Harry and Hermione Starring in: The Digital Revolution
by Forthwith16
Summary: Being petrified and having one's absurdly lucky best friend kill a big snake really gets a girl thinking. Where could they go from there? A midnight conversation leads to a promise to do better, regardless of breaking one, two, or a dozen laws along the way. With a definitely safe wand, allies expecting her to be the next dark lady, and a free summer, what is a girl to do?
1. Beneath the Moon

**A/N:** Right then, a brief message from the author before we begin. This story is an AU (originally a Harmony oneshot called _A Conversation Atop the Astronomy Tower_ ), and I usually use the movies for reference as they're more convenient for me. If something is different from canon, it's probably not a mistake. Also, feel free to Brit pick me. I am (quite obviously) not British, and although primarily writing for a US audience, I do fix errors that are pointed out to me.

Be aware that while characters will try to make good decisions (not necessarily _ethically_ good), they each have their own flaws and biases. For instance, Hermione has a dangerous hobby that her pride and scientific curiosity won't let her turn away from, but which she probably hasn't taken as many precautions with as she should have.

Lastly, any scientific, computational, or mathematical concept introduced over the course of the story is real. Harry and Hermione are still young, however, and have a lot to learn before they obtain wisdom to share. If you want to be very confused and skip to where this becomes more blatantly apparent rather than weaved into the narrative in disguise, check out The Tale of Hermione.

Now without further ado, enjoy.

* * *

Act One - Best Friends  
Chapter One - Beneath the Moon

At the very top of Hogwarts, a young witch with untamable, bushy hair and buckteeth leaned on the stone railing of the Astronomy Tower watching the sun slowly disappear over the horizon. It was, technically, against the rules for her to be there, but she'd learnt last year to be more flexible about such things when it mattered.

And there was no mistake; this was certainly a time that called for a little rule breaking. She needed a quiet place to reflect, and in Hogwarts, there were but four types of quiet places.

First, there was the library. Ms Pince, the librarian, made sure of that. Yet the seductive call of unread books was more distraction than it was worth.

Second, one could venture into the seemingly endless depths of the castle and find an unused classroom. Rumour had it there was still a student missing from the class of 1947.

Third, it was entirely conceivable to wait until everyone else had gone to bed, in which case the common room of Gryffindor Tower was nearly always both empty and silent. But that would leave her tired, and she was in no mood to wait.

That left option four: the Astronomy Tower. Outside of class, no one ever came here, not even the prefects or professors on patrol for students breaking curfew. It was the strangest thing. The view was so beautiful, almost comparable to the sight of Hogwarts itself from Black Lake. Why no one ever came here was beyond her.

And so it was that Hermione Granger found herself atop the Astronomy Tower just before night, risking both curfew and simply being found where she was not permitted. There she fell into a frustrated contemplation.

It should be noted that Hermione Granger _did not_ sulk, nor did she mope or angst. No, she _brooded_. It was an entirely respectable activity, brooding, especially seeing as there was so much to brood about these days.

Immortal dark lords, possibly disturbed house elves, giant spiders, child abuse, petrifications, monstrous dogs, a vicious professor, trolls, a _basilisk_ for Merlin's sake – when had _that_ become her life? It was enough to drive a respectable young girl to brooding.

And as always since first year's wonderful and awful Halloween, there was that niggling little annoyance in the back of her mind telling her to do _what she was going to do anyway_ , thank you. It was never about what Hermione planned to do in the broad sense of the word. The fine details were what she had trouble with. At times like this, she wished she had a friend in Slytherin.

Hermione sighed as she mulled over her thoughts for perhaps the hundredth time tonight.

 _Honestly, what am I going to do with Harry? He's going to get himself killed. This year was even worse than the last, if that's even possible: three brushes with death and one attempt by Professor Snape to expel him._

 _If only I could get him to actually listen to me instead of Ron._

Sighing, Hermione threw out of her mind the thought of just _how much easier_ this all would be if she were a boy and not a 'nagging, mental girl'. Whether it were possible or not, there was no way it was happening.

 _I need to figure out what makes Harry tick. Why does he always slack off and rush into danger without thinking?_

Hermione flinched, knowing perfectly well why Harry's academic curiosity was less than brilliant, even if she was a bit hazy on the fine details. And as terrible as it was, that brought a tiny smile to her face. There were, after all, no social penalties to opening up emotionally to a girl in confidence.

 _But that's entirely the problem. I'm Harry's emotional rock, and Ron is his social rock. As long as Ron keeps slacking off, Harry will, too, and Ron has zero interest in anything that's not quidditch or chess._

It was so frustrating. Harry was _smart_ despite the Dursleys _and_ despite Ron. He managed to get decent grades without much help, while Ron got by with average grades only with Hermione's aid. She knew Harry could do so much better if he only applied himself.

Maybe, even, Hermione hoped in the secret corners of her heart, Harry could do well enough to rival _her_. Aside from Padma Patil, Anthony Goldstein, and – surprisingly enough – Daphne Greengrass, the only other person that could follow her when she _really_ started lecturing was Harry, but only if she first explained everything that he _should_ have already studied.

But it all came back to that one question. How on Earth was Hermione supposed to get Harry to take his education seriously?

 _Ron is a lost cause. About the only thing that could possibly get him to shape up is_ – Hermione shuddered – _dating me and looking for my approval, and that's never going to happen even if he were old enough to be interested. And if I were pretty enough…_

Hermione shook the notion from her head. She _was not_ going to turn into Lavender Brown.

 _So what do I do? Do I try to separate Harry from Ron? Ron doesn't really deserve that, even if he_ is _unwittingly getting Harry killed. Besides, I'm sure that would just blow up in my face._

 _No, I need to find something Harry wants more than a best mate, something that will naturally cause him to work harder._

Hermione's thoughts ran endlessly through everything she knew about Harry, trying to figure out what he could possibly want more than the friendship and love he never got in his home life. There were so many ideas to explore, but nothing presented itself to her as the _right_ choice, the right opportunity. That Harry saw his family when he gazed into the Mirror of Erised rather failed to inspire confidence that such a thing existed to begin with.

 _Besides the obvious, of course, me being female._

In the end, Hermione was forced to admit this was not really her area of expertise. She desperately needed a Slytherin co-conspirator, but she was hardly going to go begging to Daphne the Ice Queen of all people, and no one else in that house _capable_ of helping was really approachable as a muggleborn. The odd muggleborn or two who ended up in that house were so jaded that they refused to do much of anything.

 _Ugh. Fine. Putting that aside for now, why does Harry keep rushing into mortal peril with nary half a plan? Unless he's hiding it really well, he isn't showing suicidal tendencies. I know that he's doing what he thinks is right, but there's a difference between 'choosing between what is right and what is easy' and 'choosing between what is right and will probably get you killed without doing anything and what is easy'._

Hermione paused as a thought occurred to her. Was that it, then? Did Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived, have a hero complex?

 _It would explain a lot, actually, if Harry felt compelled to actually live up to his fame. Whatever happened in Godric's Hollow eleven years ago had nothing to do with him, even in the astronomically unlikely chance that he_ does _have some sort of rare, magical, killing-curse-reflecting gift…thing. He knows that as well as I do._

 _And yet…that doesn't feel quite right, like I have a piece of the puzzle but not the whole thing. That would explain why he rushes into danger but not why he does it so haphazardly._

And there Hermione got stuck as she always did. Admittedly, despite being one herself, she never really understood other children. Certainly, she suspected that when she was older she would look back on her actions and decry them as immature and perhaps even terminally foolish. But she liked to think there was a certain maturity in her that other children simply lacked for some unimaginable reason, one that at least let her stop to ask the question 'is this a good idea?' before acting on it.

It was something Harry seemed to lack entirely.

"Hermione?"

 _Speak of the devil…_ Hermione kept herself from sighing at the terminal interruption to her peace and quiet. Instead, she asked, "What is it, Harry?"

The boy in question quietly slid into place next to Hermione, similarly leaning on the Astronomy Tower railing and staring off into the rising full moon. Or perhaps it was a waning gibbous; she was understandably a little unsure of the lunar date right now, let alone the Julian date or even the ordinal date.

"You bolted right after the celebration feast."

That brought a real smile onto Hermione's face for the first time since she'd heard the recounting of Harry's escapade in the Chamber of Secrets. As proud as she was that Harry had at least had the good sense to go to a professor first, his choice of professors and his subsequent actions were just as alarming as every other time he'd brushed with death.

A light touch fell on Hermione's arm, startling her out of her thoughts. She looked over at Harry who looked almost ready to bolt himself. Honestly, Hermione suspected he only put up with her hugging because a Granger without hugs was no Granger at all.

 _Speaking of which –_ "Thank you for the hug earlier, Harry. I really needed that. Being petrified was awful."

There was a long pause. Harry had his mouth partway open as if to say something and held it that way for a suspiciously long time.

Silently, Hermione added another tally to the 'Harry is not gullible' hypothesis. Two years after she met him and she was _still_ not sure if Harry simply took everything at face value or if he played dumb. Every once in a while, he did something that made her wonder, and right now she had a very 'you are distracting me' vibe from Harry.

"You're welcome," Harry eventually replied, taking his hand back. Of course, he looked no less worried than before.

 _And so descendeth the awkward silence in all its terrible glory._ Hermione sighed to herself. At this time of night, she supposed her bed was as good a place to mull over her plans for the future as any.

"It's getting late. We should head back to the dorms before the patrols start."

Sporting a cheeky grin, Harry tugged a corner of his invisibility cloak from his robes.

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Why am I not surprised? Still, if he's this determined to make conversation…_ Placing her hands on her hips, she spun toward Harry and said, "Don't tell me you followed me up here invisibly? Spying is a bad habit, Harry."

"Wha? I didn't – I mean I – I would never–"

Hermione rolled her eyes once more. Another point for the null hypothesis, it seemed. "You prat. I know you weren't."

"Ah… Good."

 _Although if he reacts like that, maybe I_ wasn't _just teasing him._ After a small giggle she kept to herself, Hermione decided to let the matter drop for now. She could always call him on it later and watch him squirm then.

"Um, Hermione?" Harry began hesitantly. "Honestly, is there anything wrong?"

A truly evil idea entered into Hermione's mind, one simply too good not to act on.

"Do I really look so bad that a twelve-year-old, feelings-are-dumb boy is worried?"

"Er…"

Sometimes Hermione absolutely loved being a witch. There was something terribly wonderful about asking questions where every answer was wrong. Oh, it was so wrong, but that made it no less wonderful.

First a smirk escaped Hermione. Soon after, a snicker joined it. One chuckle became two, and two became three. Soon enough, Hermione found herself in a fit of giggles, much to Harry's indignity.

"It's not that funny," Harry mumbled.

"Sorry, sorry," Hermione wheezed out. If nothing else good came of it, she did feel a bit better for the jest.

"And I think I'm even more worried now," Harry added. "I swear, if Hermione is handing out polyjuices of herself…"

Running with the joke, Hermione stuck out her hand. "It's a fair cop. Wotcher, Harry!"

"Nymphadora Tonks?" Harry paused for a second, a strange expression running over his face, and for that moment, Hermione almost thought she had him. "No, can't be. I'd be in pain by now for saying 'Nymphadora'."

"And how do you know that, huh? Cosying up to other girls?"

Rather than blushing as Hermione had expected, Harry frowned. "Hermione, _what's wrong_?"

Hermione bit down on her lower lip, refusing to speak. Even if she _were_ to explain, well, _everything_ to Harry, she hardly wanted to do it without preparing in advance.

Obviously taking a wild guess, Harry said, "They're just exams, Hermione. I think you're the only person who _wants_ to take them. Even Ravenclaws–"

A loud smack echoed through the Astronomy Tower.

It took Hermione half a moment to realise what just happened and another half a moment after that for her brain to reboot. There were far too many competing concerns.

 _I just hit an abused child._

 _No, that I hit someone at all is bad enough._

 _Harry is going to get himself killed._

 _I've got to apologise._

 _Harry sounded like_ Ron _. What if it's too late to do anything?_

 _I am_ so _emotionally compromised._

In all of a second, Hermione converged on the one thing she absolutely needed to do right away. It was another one of those things that she was going to do _anyway_ with or without that usually small annoyance in her head screaming at her, simply because it was _the right thing to do_.

"Harry, I'm so sorry."

Hermione found herself oddly distressed at how quickly Harry said, "It's fine." Merlin, but she hoped he was making an exception for her and would normally stand up for himself more.

"It's _not_ fine. I just… Harry, you've _got_ to take your education seriously."

It was terribly obvious Harry was fighting not to scowl. His frown came through clear enough, though.

"They're just exams, Hermione. I know you like getting perfects, but they hardly matter. We just throw them in the rubbish when we get them back."

Hermione bit back the scalding response she _wanted_ to make. Turning this into a shouting match would hardly help matters. Instead, she settled on, "They matter, Harry. You need to know what you know. That's what exams are _for_."

Even in the bad mood Hermione knew she'd put him in, Harry quirked his eyebrows.

Feeling the need to defend herself, her blush rather noticeable, Hermione protested as diplomatically as possible, "I like getting outstandings probably more than I should. I…admit that. But exams aren't about getting seven O's on your report. They're benchmarks, touchstones. They let you know your strengths and weaknesses."

"I don't think–"

"You never do!" Hermione screeched, throwing her hands up. She could feel tears forming at the corners of her eyes, but she ignored them.

Harry took a deep breath and visibly cooled himself off. He closed his eyes and breathed deep once more. Only once he had a controlled, neutral expression did he speak.

"Hands," Harry said, holding out his own straight in front of him the way Hermione had done for him a hundred times before.

It was hardly fair. Harry was the impulsive one who needed help reining his emotions in.

"Hands," Harry repeated himself more forcefully.

Hermione nearly gnawed her own lip off before conceding to the gesture, placing her own hands in his. The pair sank to the ground cross-legged, mere centimetres apart.

"Breathe first."

And Hermione did, resigned to walking through this session for once on the other side. Admittedly, she was rather curious if Harry kept up with her life enough to help.

 _Which, of course, just makes me feel even worse for thinking that of him…_

"Hermione, there was something I wanted to ask you before…"

 _Before I ended up in the infirmary, petrified._ "Yes?"

"Er, well, anyway, I noticed a few times that you just, well, disappeared, I guess, for a few hours at a time."

Hermione's eyes widened before she could help herself. She thought she'd been discreet about that, at least after she found out what she was doing was…illegal…

The gears in Hermione's head began to turn.

"Is there – was there… Is there?" Harry shook his head. "Is there anything going on that you want to talk about? I looked for you in the library, but I didn't find you there. Actually, in hindsight, I think I remember you disappearing earlier in the year, too."

"Ah, I was talking to the headmaster then," Hermione replied absently. Harry had given her the answer she'd been so desperately seeking earlier, at least in the short term. She just needed to figure out how to pitch the idea for maximum effect.

"Really?" It took Hermione a few seconds to realise Harry was waiting on her response. Once she nodded, he asked, "What did he want?"

"No, he didn't want anything. I…" And at that moment, Hermione's brain finally caught up with what her mouth was saying. "Er, actually, I would rather not talk about that, if that's okay. It's not that I don't trust you or anything. Just… Well, I guess I spent a lot of time badgering him about…things. It's not really worth sharing."

Rather than take offence to what she considered a painfully obvious lie as Hermione expected, Harry just nodded and asked, "And later in the year?"

"I think that's going to be part of a larger discussion. And–"

Hermione cut herself off before she said anything incriminating. She'd had absolutely enough of Malfoy pointlessly stalking them after curfew, let alone anyone else who might possibly be eavesdropping.

Shaking her hands free of Harry's, Hermione pulled her wand from her robe pocket. "One second, Harry."

Immediately, Hermione went through the few privacy charms that she both knew and was capable of casting. Honestly, a simple proximity ward likely would be enough, but she feared she was becoming paranoid after everything that had happened to her and Harry.

Rather exhausted from casting spells witches her age had no business knowing, let alone performing, Hermione placed the last charm, which would interfere with animagus transformations. She gave the top of the tower a once over just in case her spells had caught anyone. As there was no one in sight and no one had as yet triggered her proximity ward, Hermione declared the room clear.

Of course, if someone else had an invisibility cloak like Harry's, it'd certainly have gone unnoticed, but what were the odds of that? Hermione was fairly certain that the one Harry had casually stuffed in his robes like a used handkerchief was a device of power, given that it was an ancient Potter family heirloom.

Sitting back down and retaking Harry's hands – honestly, she was surprised he allowed the extended contact each time they did this – Hermione said, "As I was saying, I'd appreciate if all this stays just between us."

That definitely offended Harry. It was obvious in his expression. "Hermione, I'd never!"

"I didn't mean it like…" Hermione trailed off, biting her lip. "Well, maybe I did mean it like that. Sorry. But I really don't want to get a gargantuan fine and get sent to Azkaban when I inevitably won't be able to pay it. This _has_ to stay extra private."

And now that she thought of it, Hermione wondered if Harry even knew what legilimency was. As much as she hated to admit it, Professor Snape – a _professor_! – would likely be only too eager to see her in Azkaban, if not because he hated her for being 'an insufferable know-it-all', then because it'd hurt Harry.

Well, they would get to that, too.

When Harry finally collected his wits, he said, "Hermione Jean Granger–"

 _Why on Earth did I tell Harry my middle name?_

"–I'm shocked! Breaking the law? What would your parents think?"

Though he said that, Harry's smirk told her very clearly what _his_ opinion was.

Blushing, Hermione mumbled, "We can talk about that later."

"And imagine, Ron thought _we_ were a bad influence on _you_."

"Harry!" Hermione whined.

"Okay, Jailbird."

Hermione smacked Harry's hand with her own for that, eliciting nothing more than a chuckle from him.

Quickly turning more somber, Harry asked, "So, are you ready to talk about why you're up here now?"

"I…think so." Hermione was rather more underprepared than she wanted to be, but the timing felt right, and the atmosphere was wonderful. She could do this.

Nodding, Harry asked, "Is this about the basilisk?"

"No. Yes. Not really, but kind of." Hermione took a deep breath to keep herself from rambling, or crying, or whatever other unhelpful action her emotions might saddle her with. "Harry, I'm trying so hard to keep you alive, but I – I'm not – I messed up this time."

"Hermione, you were brilliant! You found out what was going on before any of the professors and even before the DMLE. I'm still arguing with Professor Dumbledore about you not getting that Special Award for Services to the School thing, too."

"T-thanks," Hermione said, blushing despite how little she deserved the distinction. She read a lot and was one of the only people who knew Harry, a parselmouth, had been hearing voices; that was all. "I wasn't, though. Brilliant, that is."

"Hermione–"

"No, Harry! The mirror was stupid. I should've blindfolded myself, or closed my eyes, or even just stared at the floor. No, even that's not – I should've gone straight to you instead of heading to the Headmaster's Tower. I _knew_ you could tell when the basilisk was around. You never should've been in that awful place. Merlin, Harry! You got _so lucky_!"

Harry looked like he wanted to say something stupid that would have earned him a tongue lashing, but he wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

"The basilisk should have killed you!" Hermione ranted on. And she knew she was ranting, for all the good that did her. "You had a _fang_ stuck in your _arm_. And you _let go of your wand_. That's rule number one! Don't let go of your wand! It wasn't even knocked away from you. You just dropped it! You _dropped it_!"

"Ginny was–"

"What did you do for her with an extra hand that you couldn't have done just as well _or better_ with a wand?"

Hermione's thoughts buzzed out of control even faster than her mouth rambled off ideas. This was _not_ how she wanted this conversation to go, but it was too late. There was no stopping the flood.

"You need to learn the wandless summoning charm, or at least a wandless levitation charm. If you only ever learn one wandless spell, it _has_ to be one of those, and soon.

"And we need to get you one of those professional duelling holsters. Having your wand handy in an instant is fundamentally important.

"And – and I should try to charm your cloak to work as an actual cloak so it's always ready for you to don at a moment's notice. I've been doing research on it, and being an heirloom, it's probably one of the more powerful ones that are really hard to detect.

"And I need to make you a second–"

Hermione broke off at the unexpected and very tight – if perhaps uncomfortable, both sitting as they were – hug Harry wrapped her in. She mumbled unintelligibly for a while longer before eventually petering out into the occasional sob and sniffle.

"I'll be okay, Hermione," Harry cooed. Hermione had never realised he _could_ coo, at least not effectively. "You'll be fine, too."

After the most revolting sniff of her life, Hermione said, "Harry – Harry, you have _You-Know-Who_ after you."

"Hermione," Harry began, his tone teasingly disapproving, "don't tell me you've gone native. His name is Vol–"

After a deep breath, Hermione removed her hand from Harry's mouth.

"Don't," Hermione said with the utmost seriousness. "I've been reading modern history. That name was jinxed during the war. That's why everyone's so scared to say the name. Knowing Magical Britain, I'd bet it's _still_ jinxed. Every time you say it, you're probably feeding You-Know-Who your position."

She stopped to consider that for a moment.

"Or at least some death eater somewhere."

And then the other shoe dropped.

" _Please_ tell me you've never said it at the Dursleys'."

Harry shook his head and, to his credit, actually stopped to think about what Hermione had said. But then he said, "I'm really surprised at you, Jailbird. Breaking the law and now insulting the ministry? What am I going to do with you?"

Blushing profusely, Hermione swatted at Harry's hand again. "Prat," she mumbled.

More seriously, Harry asked, "Wouldn't 'You-Know-Who' be jinxed, then, too?"

"Um… No, probably not," Hermione replied, slowly composing herself. "The point was to be feared. He can't be feared if no one talks about him. Well, maybe it is, actually. He could have used it as a statistic to see how, er, 'popular' he was. Maybe."

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "Tom?"

 _Voldemort's birth name? If I were him, I'd have that jinxed from here till next Tuesday. Tom is a common enough name, though, so there'd be a lot of false positives. Tom Riddle, or just Riddle, perhaps? No, 'riddle' is a proper word, so same problem. It'd have to be the full name._

"Unlikely," Hermione conceded, "but not impossible. We'd be better off safe than sorry, though. Just because he's a gigantic prat doesn't mean we should act foolishly ourselves."

"You think Vol–" At Hermione's glare, Harry continued, "Er, you think…Moldyshorts is dumb?"

A moment passed.

"Moldyshorts? Seriously?"

At least Harry had the common decency to blush.

Hermione sighed. "He's a... Well, to be perfectly frank, he seems a bit mentally handicapped."

"Hermione, _everyone_ is mentally handicapped compared to you."

"Thank you?" Hermione hesitantly said. It sort of sounded like a compliment. "But it's not hard to see why."

Harry cocked his head to the side, silently asking for an explanation.

Biting her lip, Hermione took a moment to consider if a practical demonstration was in order. It would make the point very clear, but it was more of a, well, a Ron thing to do.

 _Like I said earlier, better safe than sorry. Harry needs to understand_ now _before it's too late._

Hermione freed her hands from Harry's and reached for her robe pockets, making a show of searching for something. In one hand, she held her wand, casting a quick transfiguration on a piece of parchment in her pocket. In the other, she fingered a loose knut.

When Hermione's transfiguration finished, she brought out the knut with her left hand, deliberately showing it off to Harry.

"Here, catch."

Hermione flicked the knut toward Harry. As expected, he watched it fly through the air and reached out with his _wand hand_ of all things to catch it.

Just as Harry was about to grab the knut, Hermione's right hand shot forward from where it still rested within her robes. A glint of metal obviously caught Harry's eye, but his reaction time was far too slow.

"You're dead," Hermione stated clearly, leaving nothing to doubt. "And the knut is a portkey to an active volcano."

Harry looked down and watched in shock as Hermione slowly pulled away the toy knife she'd just 'stabbed' him in the heart with.

"Moldy... " Hermione shook her head. The name was just too stupid to repeat. " _Quirrelmort_ was here for a whole year." She locked eyes with Harry. "Teaching you. Right next to you. It'd have been that easy."

It was with sympathetic eyes that Hermione watched Harry's hand run over his heart, almost searching for any damage.

"Maybe," Harry began, choosing his words carefully, "there were, er… How would you say it? Contingent environmental circumstances?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's just an example. I could go on and on about things that seem…not right about the last wizarding war. The excuses add up quickly. Honestly, I don't think Quirrelmort would be that much of a threat if he didn't keep coming back every time you killed him."

It took a few seconds before Hermione realised exactly what she said and connected it with the hurt look on Harry's face.

Careful not to let herself fly into another panic, Hermione said, "I'm so sorry, Harry. I'll always be here for you if you need to talk." _Again._

Part of Hermione wanted to rage at Headmaster Dumbledore, or Professor McGonagall, or Madam Pomfrey, or _anyone_ , really.

 _Harry kills Quirrell and banishes Voldemort's spirit, and they give him a pat on the head and house points like it was just another day for him. Sometimes Magical Britain is just – just – just infuriating._

Even so, Harry himself was more important than venting some misguided anger. Hermione had checked, and Magical Britain had practically never even _heard_ of a therapist.

"I'm fine," Harry muttered, which of course meant he was anything but fine. Before Hermione could object, he added, "Later, maybe."

"Okay," Hermione eventually said. "I… Well, we got sidetracked, didn't we?"

Harry nodded mutely. His hands were still curled up into trembling fists, but he at least looked up from his lap. That was something.

"You were going to tell me what was bothering you," Harry said, changing the topic about as smoothly as Hermione had.

"It's…" Hermione stopped to ensure she chose exactly the right words. Anything less could sound really, really bad. "Harry, sometimes you make me want to tear my hair out in worry. It's not that you run off after evil wizards or fight giant snakes. Honestly, it's not even that trouble follows you around like a lovesick schoolgirl. I can live with all that. That's just who you are."

Clearly rather confused, Harry asked, "Really? Aren't you the one who always says we should talk to Professor McGonagall or Headmaster Dumbledore?"

Hermione stopped herself from rambling off everything she wanted to say immediately once again. Today, right now, was _far_ too important to not get this right. Tonight could be the moment Harry would _finally_ listen to her. No, it _would_ be. She had her illegal secret weapon burning a hole in her pocket even now.

 _He's not a Ravenclaw,_ Hermione reminded herself. _Be clear. Don't make any intuitive leaps of logic._

Hermione took one deep breath to steady her nerves. This was it.

"Harry, you could live like Godric Gryffindor, flinging yourself from one cause to the next around the world, and I wouldn't care. It's not getting into trouble that bothers me. It's _how much_ trouble you get yourself into. You're constantly biting off more than you can chew. I try my best to pick up the slack, but you get me in over my head, too."

Defensive, almost snarling, Harry asked, "So I shouldn't have saved Ginny?"

Hermione cringed at Harry's tone of voice. Her speech had not conveyed exactly what she'd meant it to, she supposed.

"I think you'd have been more likely to save her with assistance, preferably from adults."

"We went to Lockhart," Harry growled. It was impossible to tell if he was upset with Hermione or Lockhart.

And it was just as hard for Hermione not to blush at Lockhart's name. Certainly, her little fangirl phase was over and done with, but that left her horribly embarrassed at the things she'd said and thought about him.

Still, she did _resist_ the blush. There was no sense in riling Harry up any further. He was sure to misunderstand.

"Yes, and I'm very proud of you for that, even though he was...not the best of choices."

Hermione flinched away from Harry's glare. _I'm just digging myself deeper, aren't I?_

Chewing over her next words what must have been a dozen times, Hermione said, "It's not that you get in over your head that bothers me, Harry. I mean, it does, but that happens when you're off...heroing? Questing?"

Hermione shook her head. Any other time, she would try to think of the precise word she wanted, but not now.

"It's not that at all, Harry. It's that you don't… You keep getting into more trouble than you can reasonably handle. If you want to keep doing that, you need to get better. _Much_ better."

Harry opened his mouth to, no doubt, make the obvious reply, but Hermione cut him off.

"It's not enough to just do well in school, Harry. It's not even enough to get all outstandings. Quirrelmort didn't rise to power by just doing the assigned coursework. Dumbledore didn't become one of the greatest wizards since Merlin by being reactionary. Grindelwald didn't storm across Europe without allies, and research, and a great deal of personal power. You're following in their footsteps. You can't just…"

There Hermione hesitated. She knew Harry would loathe her next words, but they had to be said.

"Harry, you can't be _normal_."

It'd been slow at first, but Harry had shown a more and more distressed and even contemplative expression, rather than the betrayed anger that had been on his face not long before. But Hermione's last words floored him.

"Hermione, I don't want–"

"It doesn't matter what you want," Hermione interrupted. "Quirrelmort took your chance to be normal from you eleven years ago, and you've only added to your legend since you arrived at Hogwarts with what are undeniably _your_ accomplishments. I'm sorry, Harry, but you're _never_ going to be normal."

Reaching out, Hermione stole back Harry's hands and squeezed.

"Harry, I know you hate it, but you _do_ have people that see _you_. Ron sometimes goes all 'Boy-Who-Lived' on you, but he tries. Neville is almost painfully earnest and transparent in everything he does and treats everyone else as if they were, too. And most muggleborn don't _really_ understand why Magical Britain is obsessed with you."

"You don't understand."

It took an awful lot of self-control for Hermione not to laugh at that particular bit of angst that came out of Harry's mouth.

"No? Harry, who am I?"

Clearly rather confused, Harry said, "Hermione Granger?"

"Hardly. Do you know what adults call me when they don't know I'm listening?"

Harry shook his head.

"Depending on who you ask, I'm either 'the smartest witch of my generation' or 'that mudblood filth who thinks she's Merlin'."

"Hermione!"

Ignoring Harry's protestation of the m word, Hermione continued, "I hang out with you, of course, so it's practically _expected_ that I'm exceptional, but I get a lot of unwanted attention, too. I understand the expectations, the constant feeling of being watched, the whispering. Maybe not as well, but I _do_ understand."

"I… I didn't realise," Harry whispered. "Merlin, you must think I'm a self-centred jerk."

Giggling, Hermione said, "No more than anyone else, and _you_ at least have a good excuse with how awful your life can be." She traded small smirks with Harry before continuing, "Still, this is neither here nor there. I don't mind being Godric Junior's best friend–"

"Hermione!"

Ignoring Harry's embarrassed protestation, Hermione continued uninterrupted, "–but if you want to keep heroing, we need to come to an agreement about how you're going to do that _safely_. I'm _not_ letting you die on me."

Harry sighed and leaned back to stare up at the moon now high in the sky. "Hermione, we _tried_ to be safe. In first year, we went straight to, well, we ended up with Professor McGonagall, remember?"

"Yes, Harry, I remember."

"And she didn't believe us when we told her the stone was in danger. You remember that, too, right?"

Hermione bit on her lip, an act that did not go unnoticed.

"What do you know?" Harry asked, perfectly justified suspicion in his voice.

"Harry, you don't want to hear this."

"Yes I do," Harry insisted. "And even if I didn't, I'm sure I'd rather hear it than leave you sulking up here tomorrow night, too."

"I was not _sulking_." Hermione and Harry fell into a staring contest, one which Hermione lost. Averting her gaze, blushing, she said, "She was right. The stone was never in any danger."

"What! Are you daft? Vol – Quirrelmort was _at the mirror_!"

Hermione nodded. "He was. And the headmaster arrived not long after you fell unconscious, and _you_ removed the stone from the mirror."

Harry did not take that well, scowling at the mere thought.

"If that was even the real philosopher's stone," Hermione quietly added. She thought it likely it was. It was too obvious a trap without the real stone to bait it, but one never knew for sure with wizards.

"It was real," Harry said sullenly. "When I held it in my hand… It was such a rush. I don't know how to describe it. I felt like I could do _anything_."

Hermione decided not to comment that Harry's experience was not incompatible with a confundus charm or similar such enchantment. The Mirror of Erised held such a strong compulsion on it to begin with; no one would suspect a second, lesser one placed upon the stone, at least not right away.

Besides, real or not, Hermione's point was unaffected.

"Okay, it was real. But Quirrelmort was stuck at the mirror, bewitched. If we hadn't interfered…"

The look in Harry's eyes said he'd connected the dots himself, but Hermione wanted to really drive the point home.

"You, Ron, and I, three _first year students_ made it past all the 'defences' unaided. Except for the troll and Fluffy, I think I could've run the gauntlet _alone_ my first week of school."

"I… Hermione, did we do the right thing? Did we let Quirrelmort get away? Did I…for nothing?"

It was times like these that Hermione desperately wished Harry was comfortable with physical contact and hugging.

"We did, Harry. We did as we understood the situation. Professor McGonagall did the right thing, too, I think. She couldn't safely tell us why the stone was safe, and Headmaster Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts early, so she must have sent our warning on; Hedwig couldn't have reached him that fast. It was just one of those situations where everyone doing the right thing turned out wrong. What you did in the mirror room, it wasn't for nothing."

Harry fell silent, now brooding himself, which was exactly the opposite of what Hermione had wanted tonight. Getting him out of these funks was always a lot of work.

"I'm sorry, Harry. If it makes you feel better, I only realised in hindsight. It's not like these kinds of things are obvious to me, either. Really, I should have told you earlier so you could learn from–"

"Hermione, you're right. You're always right."

"Harry, no."

"I'll listen to whatever you say from now on."

 _No, no, no! This isn't right!_ "Harry, don't do this to yourself. I'll never forgive myself if I guilt you into listening to me."

Hermione faltered as she considered that that statement in itself might guilt Harry into not guilting him into listening to her. The irony was rather painful.

"Why does life have to be so complicated?" Hermione mumbled to herself. "Harry, I'm not trying to become your keeper. Frankly, I don't want the responsibility, and you'd be boring if you hung blindly onto my every word. I honestly admire the part of you that refuses to do anything _but_ the right thing."

"Thanks," Harry said, blushing ever so slightly despite his obviously depressed mood.

"All I really want is for you to be able to recognise when it's time to find help and for you to get to the point where you're not relying on sheer dumb luck to survive against basilisks, and trolls, and dark lords."

"I don't think I'm that smart or powerful."

Hermione would have stomped her foot had she been standing, and even now she was trying to find a way. "That's the Dursleys talking! You're _really_ smart, Harry. I've helped a lot of students, so I know. You just don't _try_. You slack off and just do well when you could be great."

It was obvious Harry was struggling to believe. If Hermione had known it'd be this hard to get him to accept that he was smart – honestly, she really _had_ thought he just enjoyed lazing around with Ron after being worked like a slave at the Dursleys' – she'd have gathered data and shoved it in his face.

"Harry, I'm smart, right?"

"Of course! Hermione, you're absolutely brilliant."

"Then why are you acting like I don't know what I'm talking about?"

"It's hardly the same," Harry mumbled.

"Maybe not, but I'm not alone and unchallenged at the top by being unable to recognise potential rivals."

Harry actually chuckled at the faux haughtiness Hermione had inserted into her voice.

"Just think," Hermione continued, hands on her hips and a smirk on her face, "you could be known as the Boy-Who- _Almost_ -Dethroned-Granger. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

"Miss Granger, you are completely daft." Somehow, Harry had managed to deliver those words in perfect seriousness.

"Am I? Well then there's nothing to it, right? After all, some barmy witch can do it." Hermione paused for effect before smirking. "Besides, you get to cheat."

Harry made a show of sticking a finger in his ear, and eventually, flicking away some wax, as gross as that was.

"I'm sorry. I must have misheard you. Did you just say the c word?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione said, "Honestly, Harry."

As annoying as it was, though, inside Hermione was smiling. She had his interest.

Once Harry's weak chuckles died down, Hermione said, "Anyway, you're allowed to use magic outside of school for self-defence, and frankly, you, Mr Potter, need to practice during summer as part of your future self-defending."

"Hermione, no one will–"

Over Harry's completely reasonable protestation, Hermione continued, "And if it just so happens that some muggles who know about magic don't like that, well, you'd be downright justified to hex them, and seal your bedroom door, and all manner of other things."

 _That_ got under Harry's skin better than anything else Hermione could have said. She still needed a long term solution for his motivation problems, but a lot could happen in one summer.

"Hermione," Harry said, hands trembling as his fingers interwove in a nervous dance, " _no one_ will buy that excuse."

" _I know_ ," Hermione grumbled. "But that's why it's a good thing students at Hogwarts aren't instructed in magical law. I certainly wouldn't _knowingly_ break the law, but poor uneducated muggleborn that I am, I can hardly help my own curiosity at times."

For what felt like a minute, Harry's jaw hung open in shock. It was kind of rude, actually.

 _Does he really think I'm_ that much _of a goody two-shoes? I certainly know the difference between the word and the spirit of the law._ Although thinking back on how she behaved at the start of first year, she added, _Well I do_ now _, at least._

Finally, Harry slapped a hand to his forehead and almost fell over laughing.

"Harry James Potter! That's entirely enough of that!"

Apparently, Harry thought otherwise, wheezing as he was from laughing too hard for too long. Hermione glared at him with her cheeks puffed out, humming angrily and trying to petrify _him_ with her mere gaze.

"Sorry. Sorry. Oh wow. Ron and I–" Harry had to pause to catch his breathe. "We really ruined you, didn't we? Please don't tell your parents where I live."

"If you're quite done." Hermione waited for Harry to both nod and apologise again, and she tried to let go of just how much she wanted to hex the Boy-Who-Tempted-Fate in exchange "Then will you at least try? At least study with me over the summer, and we can reconsider our options at the start of school if things aren't working out. Please?"

"What about Ron?"

 _Don't say anything disparaging. Don't say anything mean. Don't try to come between the boys._

Hermione wracked her brain for any excuse she could come up with in the next two seconds that would let her avoid saying, 'Ron would never be able to keep up and will get you killed.' And to her surprise, she thought of one.

"We can see if he's up for it after summer, but for now, I think discretion is the better part of valour. You know how Mrs Weasley is better than me. Even a hint of what we're doing, and she'll put a stop to it and tell us we shouldn't worry about such things at our ages _even though_ she _knows_ you've almost died more times than I care to count, not to mention that it's illegal!"

Breaking off her rant at the feeling of Harry retaking her hands – with his gross possibly wax-covered one, no less – Hermione let herself cool off and breathed slowly without having to be told.

"Alright, I won't say anything unless he asks and even then not anything that could send you to Azkaban."

"Thank… Wait, does that mean you're agreeing?"

"I'll try," Harry said hesitantly, but it was enough. Hermione pounced on him in a full-body hug, knocking the both of them over.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Oh Harry, you have no idea how much that eases my worries. There's so much we need to learn, and even more that I need to get you caught up on. And with two of us – no, no, I'm getting ahead of myself. What electives are you taking next year?"

Harry looked suddenly nervous.

Sitting back upright, Hermione said, " _Please_ tell me Ron didn't convince you to take divination for an easy O."

Hermione noticed Harry's hand slip inside his robe pocket, perhaps unconsciously. Taking that as her cue, she did the same and stole the small slip of parchment that he'd tried to hide.

Reading the sign-up sheet over in less than a second, Hermione simply said, "No. We'll talk about this later." With that, she placed the parchment in her inner pocket, effectively rendering it unretrievable to Harry.

"Hermione–"

" _Later_. And you're taking runes. I'm one-hundred percent certain you will need to know how to break and place proper wards in the future."

"Runes is harder than arithmancy!" Harry protested, not that it did him any good. Hermione was bent on seeing him take _both_ runes and arithmancy.

And if Hermione had her way, Harry would be in every class with her. Unable to resist, a teasing smirk grew on her face.

"I'm sure I can help you find the time somewhere."

A moment's silence passed.

"I feel like I should be distinctly worried."

"Oh, don't be silly, Harry. Besides, that's next year. We have a whole summer to plan for first."

Harry mumbled, "Not helping," which Hermione ignored.

"Now with two of us, we can finally learn legilimency and occlumency! It's been on my to-do list for forever now. Honestly, I've been meaning to badger you about learning occlumency since the start of this year, but something always came up. Really, everyone should be taught to at least detect intrusion."

"Er…"

"You have no idea what I've talking about, do you?"

Harry shook his head.

 _Well, at least that answers the question of if Harry knows what legilimency is._

" _This_ is why you need to study hard, Harry. Well, one of the reasons, at least. Being muggle-raised puts you at a huge disadvantage. You need to _at least_ know what kinds of magic exist, _especially_ legilimency. It's the art of reading minds. That's one of the _very first_ things I looked for when I found out I had magic. Most other muggleborn probably do the same, too." Numbering them off on her fingers, Hermione continued, "Mind reading, telekinesis, fireballs if you're a boy–"

Meanwhile, a look of sudden realisation passed over Harry's face. His eyes widened, and his jaw fell. " _That's_ why Headmaster Dumbledore never tells me – us anything!" Harry interrupted. "Occlumency is the defensive skill?"

Hermione smiled, rather impressed Harry had seen the connection so quickly. "See? You _are_ smart."

That got a blush out of Harry and some incomprehensible mumble.

"I really, really, _really_ want both of us to learn occlumency over the summer. We need a legilimens we can trust for that, which is, well, ourselves, ideally. The only legilimens I know of are Headmaster Dumbledore–"

"Who's way too busy," Harry said.

"–and Professor Snape," Hermione finished. Like Harry, she shuddered at the thought of letting him into her mind, although she tried to be more polite about it.

"So us," Harry concluded.

Rather embarrassed to even bring it up, Hermione said, "We should work on some of the basics of occlumency first, though. From what I've read so far, legilimens in-training tend to find…more than they ask for."

Harry looked more aghast than embarrassed at the thought. In hindsight, Hermione found herself unsurprised. His childhood was anything but pleasant.

 _As silly as it is, I think I feel a little…shallow. Getting embarrassed about Harry seeing memories of me showering or whatever is tame in comparison to what I'll probably see._

Hermione faked a cough. "Well, anyway. Both occlumency and legilimency are supposed to be extremely difficult, so if we can't finish over the summer, it's not the end of the world."

"The Dursleys won't" – Harry obviously decided to change his wording mid sentence – "let you come over or drive me to visit you."

"We'll take the Knight Bus."

"The Knight Bus?"

"It's Magical Britain's idea of public transportation." Hermione shuddered at the memories. "I swear, everyone who grows up in Magical Britain is clinically insane."

"That bad?"

Nodding, Hermione said, "Imagine being in a near-fatal collision at least once every three seconds. Then realise that there are _no seatbelts_."

After a second or two, Harry shivered, which likely meant Hermione had utterly failed to instill the appropriate level of fear into him.

 _At least_ he's _somewhat prepared._

"But to be honest, Harry, I'm not concerned about what the Dursleys will allow. If the _wards_ allow it, I _will_ be visiting this summer, and your relatives better not give me an excuse for target practice."

Hermione seethed on her own until Harry interrupted the silence.

"So, I suppose all this" – Harry gestured to the room, or presumably to the privacy charms Hermione had placed – "is because you're about to tell me how to circumvent the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery?"

Hermione knew what was coming, just as well as she knew there was nothing she could do to stop it. She twiddled her thumbs and no doubt looked as guilty as she felt.

"I still find it hard to imagine" – Hermione could already _hear_ the smirk in Harry's voice – "Hermione Granger breaking the law."

"It's a dumb law," Hermione mumbled. Sure, it _sort of_ helped protect the Statute of Secrecy, and it kept children – or at least muggleborn, who the Trace actually properly worked on – from blowing themselves up, but that was what parents and aurors were for. Sometimes, to her, at least, it felt more like something deliberately created to hinder muggleborn's education and erode their relationships with their family.

"Wow, today is just _full_ of surprises," Harry teased.

"Prat."

Harry's smile only grew at her response.

"Do you know how the Trace detects underage magic?" Hermione asked. If she was to be a petty criminal, Harry would be dragged down with her.

Shrugging, Harry guessed, "Doesn't it just alert the Ministry whenever someone underage uses magic?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nation-wide magic tuned to only children and only picks up non-accidental magic? Even Magical Britain isn't crazy enough to try that. The power requirements to actively monitor everywhere at once is beyond reasonable."

Although now that she'd brought it up, Hermione considered that the jinx on Quirrelmort's assumed name did exactly that. She shoved that worrying thought to the back of her mind.

"I meant more on each child, like at birth or something."

Again, Hermione shook her head. "You'd never get all of them, and parents wouldn't stand for it. Plus muggleborn really complicate the situation. So if it's not in the environment, and it's not on the child, what _is_ it on?"

"The wand?" Harry guessed.

"Exactly! After Dobby got you in trouble last summer, I did some research. The Trace records every spell we use and records it in the ministry's archives. It naturally degrades after a certain amount of time. If it's still active after you're seventeen, the ministry ignores the record, but it's usually cast to degrade months in advance, which is only an issue with summer birthdays, but not a big one.

"Anyway, it's cast by the wandmaker at time of purchase. It's a crime to sell or buy a wand to or as a minor without the Trace placed on it. Accidental magic is picked up by the Trace as a somewhat weaker spell, so the ministry can _usually_ differentiate between it and a properly cast spell. Of course if the wand is around a lot of older witches and wizards who cast spells all the time, then the Trace picks up most of the spells, which makes it practically worthless–"

Hermione jumped and, though she would deny it, shrieked at Harry snapping his fingers right in her face. He apparently thought it was funny.

"Sorry, Hermione, but you went into lecture mode."

Pouting – Ron thankfully was too far away to tease her about it – Hermione said, "You could have just said something."

"I did. Three times."

"Oh," Hermione squeaked. That was embarrassing.

"So long story short, someone sold you a wand without the Trace on it?"

"Not – not exactly." _I_ really _need to learn occlumency. Knowing Magical Britain, they'd throw me in Azkaban for this if they ever found out._

Hermione reached into her robe and rummaged around in the hidden pocket the Weasley twins had added to it.

 _Best sickle I've ever spent._

Finally finding what she wanted, Hermione withdrew a somewhat crude-looking wand – rudimentary would be the word she would use – and held it out for Harry to take.

Eyeing the wand suspiciously, Harry asked, "Are you sure this thing is…safe?"

Hermione chuckled nervously. "Probably. This one hasn't blown up yet."

"Yet? Blown up?" Harry obviously could not decide which was worse. He held the wand as far from him as he possibly could without throwing it from the tower while running away screaming. "How many of these did you buy?"

"I didn't buy them," Hermione said in a small voice.

"Were given, then."

"I – I wasn't given them."

Harry's mouth moved, but no words came out. He seemed to be talking to himself, working on the puzzle, at least until his eyes appeared eager to bulge out of their sockets.

Rubbing a hand along the sleeve of her robe, Hermione whispered, "I don't suppose this would be a good time to tell you I've been…dabbling?"

"You're making wands?" Harry asked clearly more to simply give voice to the thought than that he wanted an answer.

Quickly, Hermione leapt to her own defence. "It's not like professional wandmakers really know what they're doing, either. It's all trial and error for them, too. Didn't Ollivander give you his speech about the 'mysteries of wandlore'?"

"You're making wands?" Harry shrieked.

"They're just sticks with a magical core…"

Harry looked about to faint.

"How many?" Harry paused before asking again, "How many blew up?"

Deciding the truth was probably for the best, Hermione said, "Thirty-seven."

"Thirty-seven!"

Hermione knew herself well enough to admit, "I was too stubborn to give up. What Ollivander said really bothered me. It wasn't scientific!"

"You… You make wands as a hobby by experiment? And they blow up in your face? Because you didn't think Ollivander was being scientific about _magic_?"

Hermione nodded at each question, although the last one rather tentatively. There _had_ to be a reasonable explanation for magic, if perhaps not in terms that muggle physics was yet familiar with.

"Why are you not in Ravenclaw?" Harry screamed.

Lips tight, Hermione said absolutely nothing on that. If there were a single memory she never wanted Harry to see with legilimency, it was her sorting.

 _Of course now that I think that, it's going to be the very first one…_

After the silence had stretched long enough, Harry asked, "Do I even want to know what this is made of?"

"There's a rowan tree growing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It's supposed to work well with the core, I think."

Harry tried to raise just one eyebrow as high as he could. Although partially successful, he ended up looking rather silly for the effort. Hermione tried not to giggle.

"The core is three strands of unicorn hair."

"You didn't!" Obviously, Harry remembered when Hermione had asked to borrow his cloak just after winter break.

"I _am_ a pure and innocent young girl, you know. I can't help it if unicorns love me."

Harry looked to the wand again. While not the expert carving of Ollivander, Hermione thought she made it nice enough to look at and easy enough to hold. Unicorn hair was – at least in theory – easy for anyone to cast spells with, if not optimally. Not that Harry would know that.

Biting her lip, Hermione watched Harry look back and forth between her and the wand.

 _I feel like he's trying to decide which of the wand and me is more dangerous._

Eventually, Harry thrust the wand up and uttered, "Lumos."

The wand lit up just as it was supposed to, and Hermione let out her held breath. A wand blowing up in Harry's face would be just the worst way to start their extracurricular studies together.

"Hermione, you are brilliant. Completely mad, but brilliant."

Hermione smiled. Her hands moved to her hips. "I'm not sure if I should be offended or not."

"Seriously, did the Sorting Hat at least _offer_ you Ravenclaw?"

"Why? Don't you like being in the same house as me?"

Harry rather awkwardly fumbled for words. "Of course! But you're so – I mean there's nothing wrong with being – not that I want you gone or anything… I'm just digging myself deeper, aren't I?"

 _It's good to be a witch._

"As it so happens, I _was_ offered Ravenclaw, Mr Potter. What about you? You were under the Sorting Hat for a long time, too. You must have gotten at least one other offer."

Harry immediately went silent at the mention of _his own_ other offers.

And naturally, that meant Hermione knew exactly what that other offer must be.

"You got Slytherin!"

"Did not."

"You did too."

"No I didn't."

"It's written all over your face. It says, 'I'm Harry James Potter, and I could've been a Slytherin.'"

"I'm not a Slytherin!"

Hermione fell quiet at Harry's rather excessive outburst. Still, she could understand his feelings on the matter. His 'Heir of Slytherin' wounds were no doubt still fresh and raw.

 _Unless…_ Could tonight truly be so fortunate?

"I'm sorry, Harry."

"I'm sorry, too," Harry replied.

Hermione slipped behind Harry and wrapped her arms loosely about him, ignoring the tensing of his shoulders.

"You know, with all the politicking Dumbledore does, I wouldn't be surprised if the Sorting Hat would want to place him in Slytherin, too. Without all the hate and bigotry, the Weasley twins would do well there as well. Some of their pranks are…involved."

That got a weak laugh out of Harry.

"Imagine the Weasley twins with ambition," Hermione added.

"Heh. It'd be the end of the world."

Hermione smiled at the jest, but inside, a few stray thoughts were connecting.

 _I bet_ this _is why Harry always runs off into danger without thinking. To do anything more would be too Slytherin in his mind. I'll have to find out why that bothers him so much._

Hermione mulled over those thoughts for a moment. It really spoke to the sheer amount of crazy in Harry's life – which overflowed into _hers_ – that she reached the conclusion she had.

 _I need to encourage Harry to embrace his inner Slytherin; this isn't healthy for him. Doubly so if he's crazy enough to want to be the next Godric Gryffindor – he needs to learn how to scheme and how to use and cultivate his political capital._

 _Merlin, what would my mother think if she heard that?_

Shaking her head, Hermione told herself just to go with it. Magical Britain was already strange and lacking in common sense; what was a little more?

"It's not the end of the world to have Slytherin traits, Harry. Why, just earlier tonight, I was lamenting that I didn't have a Slytherin friend to ask advice of."

"What for?" Harry asked sullenly.

"I couldn't figure out how to trick you into letting me be your taskmistress, of course."

Harry let out a snort of amusement. "You did that well enough on your own, you minx."

"Well, don't let me show you up. I'm just a poor little Ravenclaw with her nose stuck in a book as often as not."

For a moment, neither Harry nor Hermione spoke, simply enjoying the moment.

"Hey, Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Do you still play?"

It took Hermione a few seconds to figure out what Harry was talking about. The disconnect in topic was rather jarring.

"I'm out of practice."

"Could you manage something…peaceful?"

Hermione bit down on her lip, recalling the few songs she'd practised enough to memorise. Eidetic memory or no, this was more a question of muscle memory, which was mostly dedicated to wand movements these days.

Releasing Harry from her grasp, Hermione took out her proper wand and picked up the loose knut she'd flicked at Harry earlier. A few minutes later and she had a transfigured violin. After digging around in her pocket for another loose knut, she made a bow to complete the instrument.

"I might be able to play _Greensleeves_ with only a few mistakes, unless you want to wait an hour for me to transfigure a piano. That okay?"

Harry nodded, and so she played on into the night, excited for what a new day would bring.


	2. Loose Ends and Missing Steps

**A/N:** It turns out that FanFiction dot net doesn't like centered text on the first line. I now see the wisdom in the following disclaimer. JKR owns Harry Potter.

* * *

Act One - Best Friends  
Chapter Two - Loose Ends and Missing Steps

Something poked Hermione's cheek. Over and over again it poke, poke, poked.

Moaning, Hermione mumbled, "Stop," swatting at whatever was bothering her, probably Lavender the Gossip Queen. That girl somehow _always_ noticed when anyone went to bed after curfew. At least she never turned anyone in.

Then again, since Lavender never turned anyone in, the other four girls in the dorm felt obliged not to turn her in when she–

That infernal poking came again.

"Stop it," Hermione said a little more forcefully, if still barely comprehensible. "Sleeping."

"Hermione, wake up. We're about to miss breakfast."

Recognising the voice, Hermione cracked her eyes open just a bit. "Harry? How are you in the girl's…"

This was not the girl's floors. This was not even Gryffindor Tower, judging by the blue sky and the warm feeling of the sun. That explained the manual alarm clock instead of her magic one.

And then Hermione remembered last night. She remembered that Harry had promised to actually try applying himself academically. A warm, hopeful feeling that she might not have to bury her best friend grew in her chest. The thought of it alone took such a weight off her shoulders. For once in the past year-and-a-half, her mind and magic were at peace.

Rubbing her eyes, Hermione asked, "Why are we still here?"

Harry turned away, but the blush already on his face did not go unnoticed. "I think I fell asleep to a lullaby."

 _Lullaby… Oh!_ Hermione's hand moved about her chest until it bumped into a knut, one which – if memory served – had once been a blanket last night and a bow before that. Her gaze rising, she found the violin-knut in Harry's hand, which he passed back right away. Somewhere there should be two more for two pillows. She looked about for a moment before deciding it was a lost cause. It was just two knuts, anyway, hardly worth the effort.

"Right. I didn't want to–" A yawn interrupted Hermione. Stretching, she continued, "Sorry. I didn't want to wake you up, and getting both of us to the tower without getting caught seemed…well, unlikely." Mumbling mostly to herself as she searched her robes for her wand, she added, "Just let me take down the proximity ward."

"Fair enough. It was nice enough to sleep outside today anyway."

Yawning again, Hermione said, "You said something about breakfast? What time is it?"

"Half past eight."

 _No hope of a shower before class, then._

"By the way, here's your volatile wand back."

Hermione eyed the rowan and unicorn wand in Harry's hand for a second before replying. "Keep it. I need to make at least one more for us for the summer, and I won't need it for a month anyway."

Rather hesitantly, Harry said, "Alright," to which Hermione just rolled her eyes.

 _Honestly, it's not like a small nudge will set it off or something._

Their business there completed, Harry and Hermione departed the Astronomy Tower in haste, beginning the long climb down to the Great Hall to hopefully catch a quick meal. They took the stairs one or two at a time and walked quickly through the halls: no sense tempting fate with running.

Along the way, Hermione found herself unable to resist getting an early start on rescheduling her entire summer to include Harry.

"Oh, Harry, there's so much that we need to get done before third year starts. Besides occlumency, I need to see where you are in muggle mathematics, and if necessary, give you a crash course through them for arithmancy."

"Arithmancy, too?" Harry protested, almost whined, or even, one might say, whimpered.

"I've read through most of the third-year curriculum already. It's really simple if you have a good muggle education. I can't speak to the later years' material, though. Do you know any basic number theory? Moduli and primes and all that?"

The blank look on Harry's face that Hermione caught out of the corner of her eye was all the answer she needed. To be fair, it was the answer she expected. The ideas were intuitive enough once you knew them, but most primary schools never connected remainders with moduli. Halfway down another flight of stairs, she tried again.

"Algebra?"

"Er…"

Again, that was fair enough. Harry's muggle education had likely abruptly halted at year seven, just shy of when algebra was formally introduced.

"That's fine. Do you know what a variable is?"

"Vaguely," Harry admitted rather hesitantly.

Hermione nearly paled as she realised she had _a lot_ more work ahead of her than she'd hoped. She _did not_ turn her head or otherwise react, knowing Harry would pick up on it.

"What is the last thing you remember learning in maths class?"

When Harry pointedly refused to answer, Hermione permitted herself a sigh. Really, this was all she could fairly expect to begin with given his home life. Besides, with an entire summer available, she could get Harry up to speed with ease. All he really _needed_ for arithmancy was a passing familiarity with algebra and basic number theory, just enough to look things up for now. Actual understanding of the subjects could come later.

A small shiver ran through Hermione's body. _That_ thought made her feel more than a little unclean, regardless of its practicality.

"Okay, I think a lot of our summer might actually be dedicated to getting you a decent muggle… I hesitate to say education. It'll be more of a broad outline of big important things that we can fill in the details of later, I guess."

"Sorry."

Hermione bit back the urge to sigh again, knowing the fight for Harry's self-esteem would be an uphill battle for, quite likely, years to come.

"It's not anything to apologise for or to be ashamed of, Harry. I'm lucky enough to have parents who are affluent and supportive, so I had more opportunities when I was younger. Anyway, we have nearly a month before we leave Hogwarts, so don't worry about it for now. We should try to focus on spellwork as much as possible while we're here and can use our proper wands."

"Like what?" Harry asked. "I don't have your memory, Hermione. It's not like I can just memorise a hundred spells in a week the way you can. Well, I mean, I probably can, but I'd forget them just as fast."

Hermione nearly tripped on a stair. The thought that Harry was unable to become, in his own words, a 'walking encyclopedia' had never really occurred to her. But now that she stopped to think about it, Harry was very much a man of action; goals and projects would be better motivation to learn and retain information than knowledge for knowledge's sake. Give him a use for something, and he would remember it far easier and far longer.

"Well, what do you want to learn?" Hermione asked. "Being muggle-raised, I trust you actually appreciate magic. I mean, any half-decent witch can transfigure a few barrels of ice to oil, and voila, you have free, clean energy for a city for a day. So long as no one breathes the fumes in before the transfiguration wears off…"

Cutting herself off from what she suspected was about to turn into a rant, Hermione instead asked, "So what would you think would be fun or useful? Name it, and I can dig up something that does it!"

"Hmm… Well, actually, I haven't slept this well in a while, stiff back notwithstanding. Ron and Neville snore like chainsaws."

Hermione snorted, and pulled out her wand. "I'll bet. Anyway, you want the silencing charm. The wand movement is simple. A semicircle, then a line downward tangential to the end the first movement, all rotated approximately five degrees from the vertical in your frame of reference." Her wand moved in sweeping, dramatic gestures to demonstrate. "That particular angle works best with effectiveness dropping off rapidly, which is why it's usually not taught until fifth year when students have built up the coordination." She ran through the movements again, faster this time, culminating in the word, "Silencio!"

Satisfied that Harry's mouth moved without making a sound, Hermione cast a quick finite on him.

"Have I told you recently how brilliant you are?"

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Potter."

"I'm so lucky to have _the_ smartest witch as a best friend."

Rolling her eyes, but unable to help the smile on her face, Hermione cast the silencing charm on Harry again. "Remember, it's 'si- _len_ -cio'. The emphasis is on the 'len'." She pointed her wand at Harry once more. "Finite. Go on, then. Give it a try."

"Er, how about after breakfast?"

Hermione only now realised that they'd stopped moving in the fourth floor corridor.

"Oh. Right." Walking off with Harry falling into step beside her, Hermione asked, "Besides the silencing charm, then, what else?"

"I always thought it might be fun to become an animagus like Professor McGonagall."

"The theory for that is actually covered in the third year transfiguration curriculum. We can ask her to supervise us then, alright?"

Harry nodded, mumbling to himself, "What else…" Another floor down in the castle, and Harry finally said, "Enchanting, maybe?"

"Really?" For the most part, enchantments were rune-based, not something Hermione thought Harry would be interested in normally. Still, if this was what got Harry invested in runes, she would take it. "Why enchanting?"

"I thought it'd be fun to try making a broom."

 _Ah, of course it's about flying. I should've known._ "Alright, all the more reason to take runes and arithmancy, then."

"Hey, you're not going to make me quit quidditch, are you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, an act that went unappreciated as they walked. "You're not even fazed by this morning exercise, so I can't really complain about you wasting your time on some silly game when I'm wheezing a bit while talking."

There was surely an evil grin on Harry's face as he said, "So that means you want to try out for the team to get in shape?"

"Not on your life!" Hermione said, much to Harry's amusement. Just having Harry alone dodging bludgers and flirting with the ground was more than enough exercise for her heart. Putting _her_ too on a line segment a hundred metres in the air would kill her. "It's not like you play quidditch, anyway. They put you on a fast broom and tell you to catch the shiny thing that almost always wins the game."

Harry was unusually silent for a few seconds.

"Still fun, though."

Hermione shrugged. "If you say so. What else?"

"I wouldn't mind learning more offencive spells and just practising duelling in general." Harry paused, then added, "It might get you in shape, too."

Hermione backhandedly slapped Harry's arm. "Prat. Don't forget who wipes the floor with whom." She heard Harry grumble something about a million spells being unfair in a duel, giggling to herself all the while.

"Maybe potions, too." The words came out so quietly; Hermione almost missed them among Harry's earlier complaints.

"Potions? I thought you hated potions?"

"I… Maybe. I wouldn't really know, given the professor. I do like cooking, which is sort of the same thing. It's relaxing. And…Mum was supposedly good at the subject."

A small smile escaped Hermione. But as sweet as that was, she was fairly sure there was an ulterior motive to Harry's tentative interest. Still, just last night she herself had used his disdain of the Dursleys to get him to do what she wanted. It'd be terribly hypocritical to stop him from trying to deal with Professor Snape's harassment however he chose, especially if it was by being academically successful.

"Well, potions theory is still beyond us, so we wouldn't be doing much different. I tried, but it turned into a _huge_ time sink."

Harry missed a step and nearly fell flat on his face. Still rooted in place, he asked, "You mean Snape is teaching the class properly?"

"Professor Snape," Hermione corrected. Regardless of however much she disliked the man, he was still their professor. "And for students with a lot of other classes, yes. In a master–apprentice relationship, he'd probably start with theory, but that kind of dedicated study would never work at Hogwarts for a general education."

They fell silent for a few seconds, walking while Harry digested that. Not wanting him to misunderstand her meaning, though, Hermione added, "Or at least he's teaching the material properly. His professional behaviour and the learning environment it creates, not so much."

"I see…" Harry mumbled to himself.

While he mulled that over, Hermione continued, "We can work on potions together if you want, though. Like you said, it's like cooking. The more you practice, the better you get. First I'd need to go over what kinds of potions exist with you, but then we can start actually brewing at my house…maybe. No, there's not enough room, and we have too many muggle guests. But then if we brewed with compatible muggle chemistry equipment…"

After thinking on it for a few seconds, Hermione shook her head. A lot of potions required a specific type of cauldron and were volatile at some stages of the brewing process. It was best not to tempt fate.

Besides, a better idea occurred to her. Harry had once mentioned he had a fair amount of money, if not access to it – something she was meaning to look into anyway – and her own parents were affluent enough. They could both pitch in to buy a TARDIS, or whatever Magical Britain called things with extension charms on them.

"Hey, Hermione?"

Broken out of her thoughts, Hermione hummed in response.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but could you recommend me a history book? I don't know the first thing about…how I got my fame. None of the adults are ever willing to talk about it with me."

Hermione hesitated to answer. She disliked the only truthful response she could give as much as she was sure Harry would.

"There's not one, really. The politics are still relevant, and you know a lot of people like Lord Malfoy bribed their way out of Azkaban. And no one really knows what happened on Halloween."

Hermione turned her head to look at Harry, who was, as predicted, not happy with that answer. As they started down the stairs to the first floor, she said, "I can get you a few books to cross reference, and I can give you a summary if you want. Everything they say, though, you'll have to take with a pinch of salt."

"Just the books, please," Harry said in a tight voice.

Frowning at the look on his face, Hermione wrapped a hand around one of Harry's trembling ones and coaxed his nails out of his palm. She would be there if he needed her; that act alone was enough to remind him of that.

Near the bottom of the staircase, still taking the steps two at a time, Harry suddenly broke their silence. "Hermione!" He yanked her back by the hand, sending him forward down the stairs and scrambling to stay upright. Hermione, on the other hand, fell backwards onto her bottom.

Once she recovered from the shock, Hermione looked up and down the staircase, reaching for her wand. Then for good measure, she glanced straight up, down, and then off to the sides. As far as she could tell, there was absolutely nothing wrong.

Confused and more than a little sore in the rear, Hermione got back to her feet and walked down to join Harry at the bottom of the stairs.

"What?" Hermione asked to Harry's gaping expression.

"This is the first floor staircase, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded, but Harry's question only left her more confused.

Harry's mouth moved in perfect imitation of a fish before he managed, "How?"

"How what?"

"You – you just walked on a disappearing-step."

 _Disappearing-step? Why does that sound familiar… Oh!_ "Bathilda Bagshot wrote about those in _Hogwarts: A History_ , but they're just a myth like the Chamber of… Okay, bad example, but they're not real."

Harry did his fish impersonation again before shaking his head. "They must've tripped me at least a dozen times, Hermione. They trip _everyone_ at some point. How did you… This really is the first floor staircase, right?"

"Yes?" Just to test the theory, because that was what reasonable people did in the face of the unknown, Hermione walked back up the steps to where Harry had thrown her backward. "See, Harry? There's nothing wrong with the stairs."

Harry, having rushed up the stairs to join her, said, "Move," making a shooing gesture with his hands.

Hermione rolled her eyes, telling him that he probably just tripped on the edge of the stair. They were already nearly too late for breakfast, and she was rather hungry after weeks of petrification and only one meal since.

Still, Harry insisted they investigate. As much as she loved Harry's curiosity on the matter, this was ridiculous. Even so, she trained her wand on him. With Harry Potter, taking a single step up a staircase could send them to Wonderland if his luck held true.

Clinging to the handrail as if his life depended on it, Harry put one foot through the step Hermione had vacated.

"Huh." There really were no other words.

"See? I told you! How did you step on it?"

Frowning, Hermione cast a finite at the step. In the background, she registered Harry sarcastically commenting, "Yeah, no one has ever tried that before."

"Probably just one of the twins' pranks," Hermione mumbled to herself. She first put her own foot back on the step in question. It was as solid as ever.

At Hermione's expectant look, Harry mimicked the action. His face showed a mixture of smug pride and the remnants of his earlier surprise as his foot went straight through the step.

"You say it trips _everyone_?" Hermione put her own foot back on the step while Harry's was still through it, finding it perfectly solid.

"Ye – well, obviously not, but everyone I've ever walked to class with jumps this step."

"Except me," Hermione pointed out, "which means you weren't paying that much attention."

"Fair," Harry admitted, drawing the word out. "Did you _want_ me to watch your feet?"

"Er, well, no, not really."

"Then it shall be as you command, My Taskmistress," Harry said with an over the top bow.

Blushing a bit at that, Hermione reined in the urge to wipe that smirk off his face with an overpowered cheering charm. "You prat. I just meant you weren't keeping track of who _doesn't_ jump, just noting that most people _do_."

Ignoring Harry's chuckling, Hermione found herself torn between investigating and getting on with her day. On the one hand, there was mystery and science to be had. But on the other, this was exactly the kind of distraction she was trying to cut out of Harry's life.

But then her brain whispered a seductive line of reasoning to her. _A selectively permeable object would be very useful for hiding in plain sight, not to mention all the half-mad offencive applications Harry would no doubt come up with. And you've always wondered how the portal to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters works; this might be the answer. Besides, this is a good chance to jump-start his creative reasoning._

Seduced by her own curiosity, Hermione started talking. "So it doesn't trip me, and I infer it doesn't trip Bathilda Bagshot, since she wrote that they're a myth. Does it only – no, I think I remember other girls skipping steps on occasion, so it's not a gender-based enchantment like on the girls' staircase in Gryffindor Tower."

While Hermione descended into mumbles and possible theories based on one-and-a-half data points, Harry interrupted, "Hermione, do you mind being a few minutes late to transfiguration?"

Deliberately late to class? Unthinkable! Still, Hermione asked, "Why?"

"If you go grab our stuff from our rooms and I grab breakfast, we can camp out on the landing."

Hermione's eyes followed to where Harry was pointing, a flat area at the top of another staircase with a perfect view of the one they were currently on. From there, they could easily see which students would be able to able to stand on the disappearing-step.

At first, Hermione wanted to scold him for even thinking about being late to class for so trivial a reason. There were plenty of times between other years' classes that they could keep watch during. Alone, she knew her own eagerness and curiosity would overpower this objection and win her over to his side.

But no, Harry had another motive behind the admittedly tempting offer. It was rather obvious, really, but at least he was exercising that Slytherin part of him.

"Don't think you're getting out of talking to Professor McGonagall about your electives."

Harry held his hands up in surrender. "Didn't even cross my mind."

Rolling her eyes at the obvious lie, Hermione replied, "Alright, but I swear, if Ron left his underwear all over the place again, you owe me."

* * *

Harry sat quietly fidgeting with the sign-up sheet Hermione had finally deigned to return to him halfway through class, one which he'd pointedly scribbled out muggle studies on in front of her. She was completely daft if she thought any muggle-raised student needed to take the course, no matter how 'fascinating' the magical perspective might or might not be.

Surprisingly, he actually managed to talk her out of taking the course after telling her it was a waste of their time. Suffice to say, it was a strange feeling for Hermione to take his advice for once.

But now that he was faced with actually acting on what Hermione had talked him into, actually having to talk to Professor McGonagall, Harry was worried. Four electives in addition to normal coursework, the muggle schoolwork that Hermione insisted on, _and_ whatever extra things Hermione came up with was downright insane. He'd have said it was outright impossible, except she'd pointed out that she was keeping up with almost all that herself already.

Of course, that was what _Hermione Granger_ could do. What Harry Potter was capable of, Harry was less sure of despite Hermione's insistence that he could manage the coursework. Already he could picture her face when she realised that the illusions she'd somehow built up about him were nothing more than just that: illusions.

The worst part was she would not be angry. Disappointed? Sure. Scolding? Probably. But angry? Never. In the absolute worst case scenario, she would just frown and walk away.

And yet there were parts of Harry's mind that he usually tried to ignore, parts that whispered ever more terrible things which had only grown worse and worse since meeting the young Tom Riddle.

Hermione Granger was frighteningly intelligent. She was pointedly not interested in the Boy-Who-Lived, treating the magical world's hero worship as at best an embarrassing quirk and at worst a mental deficiency. She operated almost entirely on facts and figures. She never lied – except _for him_ , and boy did _that_ make him feel guilty – even if she occasionally tried to blunt the impact of her usual frankness with all the grace of a rampaging nundu.

Surely, then, the illusion about Harry's abilities was his own. That he could generate that train of logic spoke to that conclusion all on its own.

And that was even worse.

Tom Riddle – half-blood, male, war orphan, muggle-raised, unloved, anger issues, Slytherin, parselmouth, the headmaster's favourite student, absolutely brilliant, although Hermione and the current headmaster disagreed on that point.

Harry Potter – half-blood, male, war orphan, muggle-raised, unloved, anger issues, Slytherin-offered, parselmouth, probably the headmaster's favourite student, possibly absolutely brilliant, literally bears some unspecified part of Tom Riddle in him, according to the headmaster.

Merlin! Tom Riddle had even remarked that they _looked_ similar, and Harry had to agree.

And now Hermione was pushing for Harry to work to become not only _her_ equal, but to stand with her among the greatest and the most terrible, to very definitely check off that last little box on the similarities between him and Tom Riddle. Worse, she never put it in words, but her intent to push him into accepting the part of him that spoke of secrets, plots, and ambitions was as clear as day.

 _Harry_ was, after all, the closet Slytherin. Hermione was not that subtle.

This, Harry knew, was _the moment_ in his life, the point where, looking back, he would say it had all gone horribly, terribly, irredeemably wrong. As he was, Harry Potter was a nonentity with a bizarre footnote in his life from when he was one. The world was safe from him.

Harry buried his face in his hands, ignoring the strange look Hermione gave him.

 _The fate of the world_. Harry rolled his head so that the weight moved from one hand to the other. _Hermione Granger's friendship and peace of mind._

There was nothing more Harry wanted to do right now than to bang his head against a wall or on his desk to knock some sense back into him. He found Dumbledore's obvious deflection running through his mind quoted word for word. Hermione would be so proud.

"You have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. His own very rare gift, parseltongue – resourcefulness – determination – a certain disregard for the rules. Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think."

"It only put me in Gryffindor," Harry had replied, "because I asked not to go in Slytherin."

" _Exactly_. Which makes you _very different_ from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at _this_." Dumbledore had then handed Harry the sword _he_ _himself_ had placed there and was already well aware belonged to Godric Gryffindor. "Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled _that_ out of the hat."

And at that point, Harry had realised that Dumbledore had absolutely nothing truly supportive to say, no words of wisdom to offer, because there _was_ nothing to say. And so they'd fallen into a painfully long silence while Harry contemplated all the ways he was _exactly_ like Tom Riddle. Then when it had grown too much for him to bear, Dumbledore had simply sent Harry on to dinner without another word.

It truly boggled Harry how that was supposed to make him feel better.

 _I only asked not to be in Slytherin because I really didn't like Malfoy. I knew practically nothing about the houses. He just said I chose to be in Gryffindor – which I didn't – therefore I was nothing like Tom Riddle. Hermione would laugh at such a leap in logic if she wouldn't be so busy crying that the words came from – of all people – the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the greatest magical school in the world._

A small smile managed to work its way onto Harry's face as he remembered Hermione saying she admired him for always doing the right thing, but it faded quickly.

 _Being a 'True Gryffindor', always doing the right thing, that would just make me the next Grindelwald instead, and he was_ worse _than Voldemort._ Harry paused to consider that. _Or at least he got further along in his plans, not having a one-year-old Harry Potter to trip over._

"Harry, I'm going to go gather more data while you talk to Professor McGonagall," Hermione said, not that Harry was paying much attention. She slipped him a note asking to drop muggle studies as she said it. Harry managed a distracted nod before she bolted from the room well ahead of the other students.

Ron came by next and asked after an early lunch, which Harry begged off on before sinking back into thought.

 _Why does my life have to be so complicated? Other students don't have to worry about turning evil._

Harry let out a long-suffering sigh, collapsing onto his desk face-first. The headmaster got one thing right about him and Quirrelmort, though. It _was_ their choices that defined them.

 _I need to learn everything about how Quirrelmort went wrong, then_ not _do that._ Hopefully, learning about the latest magical war would be the first step.

Harry let out another sigh. The worst part about all this, the absolutely most awful fact was that the Sorting Hat had been right; Harry very much _did_ have a 'thirst to prove himself'. The stares and hero worship he could ignore. Those he could complain about to Hermione, who would always listen with a sympathetic ear. Then afterwards, he could go on just being himself.

But the whispers and the _usually_ silent accusations this year were another beast entirely, let alone that Hermione had been physically unable to play counsellor for him during the worst of it.

 _Hermione was right, as always. There's never going to be a 'Just Harry' unless 'Just Harry' is more interesting than the Boy-Who-Lived and whatever rumour of the year is floating around. Slaying a thousand-year-old basilisk with only a sword is a good start, I guess._

Harry sighed again. It was becoming an epidemic. _Maybe I should spread the story around. Take a few students down to see the basilisk. Ask the DMLE to come investigate; Quirrelmort might have left something important behind. Something like that…_

"Mr. Potter?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, Harry lifted his head from his desk to come face-to-face with a frowning Professor McGonagall.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Class is dismissed. Please at least _attempt_ to appear to be paying attention in class, exams or no exams."

Smiling sheepishly, Harry said, "Sorry, Professor. Last night was… There's a lot on my mind."

Professor McGonagall's frown lessened but did not fade. But then Professor McGonagall almost always had a stern expression on her face. What she had now was perfectly normal.

"Be that as it may, you are here to learn, Mr. Potter. I understand these past few weeks have not been easy for you, but I expect better from you."

 _From me or the Boy-Who-Lived?_ Harry shook the thought from his head. It hardly mattered right now.

Chuckling, Harry said, "Yes, Hermione gave me a full on lecture on that last night."

Harry reached into his robe pocket, where his fingers grasped the one little piece of paper that would change everything. There was no going back if he handed it over to Professor McGonagall; Hermione would never let him out of her foul clutches once he walked into them of his own free will, as Ron would say.

"Was there something else, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked after he'd held his arm awkwardly in his pocket for far too long.

Biting his lip the way he knew Hermione did – perhaps there was some insight it'd bring him – Harry imagined the two futures he was choosing between.

Embracing everything that Hermione asked of him, that left Harry with a very real possibility of turning into the next dark lord. Hermione would scoff at the notion, but there were just too many similarities between him and Tom Riddle to ignore. His own evil obviously would not be killing muggles, muggleborn, and 'blood traitors', but there were more than enough dark lords with good intentions in history to think he would never find one.

But the other possible future sent shivers through him. Harry could tell Hermione he wanted to continue on as he had, and all dramatics aside, it'd destroy their friendship, one of the few _both of them_ had.

Oh, they would still play the part of best friends, he knew, but it'd never be the same. Hermione would go right back to worrying and spending all her free time in the library alone, researching how to keep _him_ alive, because _she_ was a true Gryffindor and would never be persuaded not to waste _her_ life on _him_ of all people, despite how much he'd let her down. In all likelihood, he was going to get _her_ killed, regardless of whatever fate awaited him.

That _was not_ going to happen, not to the wonderful girl that inexplicably considered him her best friend.

Hermione was worth it.

"Yes," Harry finally replied, "if you have a moment, Professor. I wanted to talk to you about my electives next year, if it's not too late change them."

Like flipping a switch, Professor McGonagall's expression instantly turned into as bright a smile as was ever found on her.

"Certainly not, Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall moved to the front of the room and sat down at her desk before Harry could so much as move, and he swore that he saw her twirl as she did. "I have a full period and all of lunch before my next class. Please take a seat."

Harry got up, rather nervous now, from his own desk and found his way to a much more comfortable chair Professor McGonagall had transfigured for him. He pulled out the sign-up sheet and handed it to her without a word, which she looked over immediately.

"Tch."

Harry thought it best not to comment on whatever that meant. He also decided not to point out that Professor McGonagall's usual frown was back in full force, although he had the feeling that someone else was the focus of her ire.

"Well, if I may ask, what brings on the interest to also take runes and arithmancy?" A slight hint of Professor McGonagall's earlier smile came back. "And to, emphatically, continue not taking muggle studies?"

A small blush lit up Harry's cheeks. Maybe, he considered, he should have gotten a clean sheet to turn into Professor McGonagall instead of the one he and Hermione had fought over with quills and ink as their weapons.

"Hermione was…" 'Upset, occasionally crying, and worried I'm going to get myself killed' hardly seemed like an appropriate answer, as true as it was. Harry eventually went with, "Insistent."

Professor McGonagall quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh, that reminds me." Harry dug around in his pocket for the other sign-up sheet Hermione had given him. "She wanted me to give you this." He handed off the paper, to which Professor McGonagall nodded before placing it off to the side.

"Well, I must say I'm very happy to see Miss Granger has finally sunk her claws into you," Professor McGonagall began. "I'd give her house points, but I'm not entirely sure it'd be appropriate."

"Professor?" It almost sounded like Professor McGonagall had made a Ravenclaw joke, but surely not; she never made jokes, or at least not with her students.

"Nevermind. Now as much as I would like to simply accept your request, I'm afraid I would be remiss in my duties as your head of house if I did so. Firstly, do _you_ , Mr. Potter, wish to pursue this change to your schedule, regardless of Miss Granger's thoughts on the matter?"

Harry nodded before elaborating. "Hermione's thoughts are pretty logical, so I guess I can't really say that I'd have done this without considering them, even if I were really interested. Er, not to say that I'm not interested, now that Hermione's got me thinking about it all, but–"

Realising that what he was saying was rapidly losing coherency, Harry simply said, "What I mean is I would like to try."

"I'm glad to hear that, but your own choice of words brings up my other concern." Professor McGonagall fixed Harry with penetrating stare that sent shivers down his spine. "You wish to try, as you said, but I neither want nor will permit you to set yourself up for failure. Eleven classes is a serious workload. To be honest, and don't tell her I said this, I believe Miss Granger may be in over her head herself, although dropping muggle studies will help.

Harry shook his head. "Hermione does twice as much work as everyone else in classes, is picking up magical culture, _and_ is keeping up with her muggle education. I'm sure she'll find the time for a few more classes."

For some reason, Professor McGonagall's brow furrowed at that. "Mr. Potter, are you aware that divination and arithmancy have overlapping schedules?"

"Yes. I mentioned that to Hermione, and she just told me we'd 'find the time somewhere'." Harry paused to think back to the hushed conversation they'd held in class earlier. "In hindsight, I think she's been putting one over on me." Hermione had said something similar the night before, too, and with the same downright mischievous smirk.

"I see." She continued to watch Harry warily, but Professor McGonagall at least stopped glaring. "Please inform Miss Granger when you see her that I would like to have a word with her."

Harry paled, running back over his words for what he could possibly have said wrong. If anyone would get special treatment, of course it'd be Hermione Granger; that was no secret, nor would it remain a secret if it were. And no one who knew her could blame her for asking that her friends received equal privileges.

"Relax, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger is not in trouble."

Harry let out the breath he'd been holding. Still, he was curious what he was missing.

Not giving Harry the time to suss out whatever secret code he'd unknowingly delivered, Professor McGonagall continued, "Now, you never addressed my concern. Not in regards to you, at least. Do you think you can keep up with – and more importantly, _succeed in_ – eleven classes?"

Sighing, Harry replied, "I don't know. Hermione thinks I can, and she's usually right about…well, _everything_."

For a few seconds, Professor McGonagall just stared at Harry, completely silent. Unlike before, this time he felt like he was being evaluated somehow, but for the life of him he had no idea on what it'd be.

"If you would, please tell the Weasley twins to visit my office after dinner as well."

"Er… Sure."

The question died on Harry's lips as Professor McGonagall said, "Don't ask."

 _Right…_ On that confusing note, Harry pled his case once more with the very terms Hermione had given him last night. "Hermione drafted me into her summer studying, and she said if it doesn't work out, we – that is, her and I – could rethink things. Would that convince you if I can keep up with her?"

"I don't suppose I could convince you to drop divination? It is a woolly subject to begin with."

Drop the easiest class? It hardly seemed like it'd have much of an effect on his schedule, and Harry said as much.

"Very well. In that case, we'll return to this conversation after next year's welcoming feast. Anything else?"

"No, Professor."

"Off with you, then. Get to class on time from now on, and do _attempt_ to stay out of trouble."

* * *

Hermione panted, hands on her knees, just outside the Headmaster's Tower. Harry would never let her hear the end of it if he saw her now, but she really did need to get in shape – just not with quidditch.

Still, she made it to her destination quickly enough. There were maybe fifteen minutes left before Harry finished with Professor McGonagall if he got the same lecture about time turners. Then after that, she had maybe fifteen more minutes before he noticed she was missing.

Really, it'd be fine if Harry knew she was here. She would likely have to give him a summary sometime anyway. Indeed, Hermione was resigned to the probability that after summer they'd have no secrets from each other. Still, Harry had that stupid hero slash martyr complex and would tell her not to go to the trouble, he was fine, which in Harry-speak meant he was currently _not dying_. Or if not that, then he would insist on coming along, and she was fairly certain he would be a detriment rather than a boon in the coming discussion, not that she would ever say that to his face.

Hermione walked up to the gargoyle that stood guard at the entrance to the headmaster's office, now recovered and ready to get on with her task. Well, ready was perhaps a bit strong of a word. She was ready to make herself ready. Headmaster Dumbledore was no less intimidating now than he'd been at the beginning of the year, but this time she very much had Harry on her side, even if only in spirit. This time she would not find herself tongue-tied or feeling unworthy of his already thinly spread time.

"My animagus form is a bookworm," whispered a completely mortified Hermione. She'd been here so often earlier in the year that Headmaster Dumbledore had given her her own password, one which she would be entirely too embarrassed to ever spread around.

If it turned out her animagus form _was_ a bookworm, Hermione would just die.

The gargoyle stepped aside, and the spiral stairs behind it ground stone against stone as they spun and ascended to the tower above. Hermione placed her hand on the column in the middle of the spiral, then stepped onto the stairs proper. She jerked forward with them momentarily before regaining her balance.

Up and up the stairs rose until nearly a minute later when they finally deposited Hermione just outside the headmaster's office. Why the founders thought it was a good idea to seclude the headmaster from the students, Hermione would never know, nor would she understand why each successor carried on the tradition.

 _If I were headmistress, my office would be on the ground floor and accessible to everyone. Well,_ Hermione admitted to herself, _it'd be on the first floor next to the library, but just as accessible._

Two large braziers commonly found through Hogwarts roared to life as Hermione stepped forward and off the staircase. She blinked away the sudden change in light and approached the large, imposing door.

Hermione took a deep breath. _You can do this, Hermione Granger. You're saving Harry's life. The headmaster is only human, just like the rest of us._

That said, Headmaster Dumbledore was also the chief warlock, and the supreme mugwump, and the defeater of Grindelwald, and a million other things. It was all a little much to handle.

But he _was_ only human. _I can do this. I can do this._

Straightening her back, smoothing out the ruffles in her robes, Hermione stopped just in front of the door. She raised her hand to knock, only for her fist to strike air. The momentum awkwardly carried her a half-step forward as a voice emanated from within.

"Come in, Miss Granger," Headmaster Dumbledore called out. Looking up, Hermione found him seated at his desk with his arms resting on it in front of him, hands folded together. The moment her eyes found his, she immediately lowered her gaze. The headmaster was fair and just, but he was also obligated to report criminal behaviour. Just to be safe, she resolved not to look him in the eye if she could avoid it.

Now if only she could think of a way to do so subtly.

Fidgeting and less than satisfied with her undignified entrance, Hermione took a moment to recompose herself before stepping into the office proper. Thus emboldened, she said, "I'm sorry for coming unannounced, Headmaster. Could I please have a few minutes of your time?"

"I always have time for my students, as you well know."

Hermione was unable to stop an embarrassed blush from spreading across her cheeks, nor could she stop the awkward skip in her step that resulted.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, Miss Granger. You are a true and loyal friend to Harry, something he very much needs in his life." The headmaster chuckled as he added, "As much as it would save my old ears were it not so, I hope that doesn't change anytime soon."

Hermione just burned a hole into the ground with her gaze, her face no doubt as red as it'd be after having been out in the sun too long. This was not going as planned; the headmaster was entirely too disarming. But at least she had a legitimate excuse now not to look the headmaster in the eye. That was something.

"Lemon drop?" Headmaster Dumbledore offered as he always did. When Hermione shook her head, he gestured toward a comfy looking chair just in front of his desk, one which she was glad to take and hide within its soft, overly plush depths. "Now then, what can I help you with this afternoon?"

Gathering all the Gryffindor courage she possessed, Hermione stated in no uncertain terms, "Harry and I are spending the summer together."

"Miss Granger–" the headmaster began, his tone betraying a hint of how weary he was of dealing with Harry's home life.

"We are!" Hermione interrupted with a whispered shout. That was happening, no matter who she had to go through or what precautions she had to take. "If he could go to school and escape to the park during the summer as a kid, we can see each other!"

Headmaster Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose. "Miss Granger, you know what kind of people the Dursleys are. They will not take kindly to you being so much as in their neighbourhood."

"I don't care," Hermione replied, still just shy of whispering while staring at her feet. "I'll wear Harry's invisibility cloak if I have to. Besides, it's not like they won't cast him out when they're not legally obligated to care for him anymore."

Not without extensive use of highly illegal magic, that was; even the spells already there to keep the Dursleys somewhat decent were straddling both the legal line _and_ what the blood wards would tolerate. In all honestly, sometimes Hermione wished Harry had just endured enough physical abuse and malnutrition to attract his primary school teachers' attention. In some ways it'd have been better than the emotional abuse and neglect he primarily struggled with instead.

"You said the Tonkses won't do."

Harry was lacking in relatives, but he _did_ have a few. Unfortunately, Hermione's attempt to move Harry to his _father's_ mother's grandniece's custody had ended in tragic failure. Such was the nature of blood based rituals. Lily Potter had done _something_ , but Headmaster Dumbledore was still scratching his head as to what exactly.

Trial and error had established that, if they were not the main purpose of the ritual Mrs. Potter had invoked, then there were at least side effects protecting Harry. That said, the headmaster had made it abundantly clear that they _would not_ reflect or otherwise block the killing curse. Still, the protections were useful; it was just awful that Harry had to be around close relatives on his mother's side – which consisted entirely of the Dursleys after the war – for them to continue existing.

At least Harry got to meet Nymphadora and the rest of the Tonkses out of the whole mess, if only briefly. That was something.

"So what's the plan _then_?" Hermione asked, perhaps accused, if she were being honest. "When half the wards protecting Harry crumble, what then? And if there is a plan, then _why not use it now_?"

Hermione could feel the headmaster's gaze levelled on her, and she flinched away from it before she could help herself. What she said had come out far more scathing than intended. Really, she was just _frustrated_ , so very frustrated. And the headmaster _was_ doing the best he could for Harry. Within reason, that was. There was no reason to take it out on him.

"The plan," Headmaster Dumbledore began, "as you say, is to end this cold war before then. Miss Granger, if I cannot end this before Harry turns seventeen – sorry, eighteen for muggles – you should have no reason to trust me with his safety."

A moment passed. Hermione really had no idea what to say to that. That _was not_ what authority figures were supposed to say, especially not _Albus Dumbledore_ of all people.

"I…"

Really, if she trusted the headmaster enough to put Harry's safety in his hands _now_ , she should trust him enough to believe him when he suggested he could be incompetent. Although in the event that he were, then it'd make no sense to trust him, but then the end result was the same, so it hardly mattered.

Hermione shook her head clear of the murky road it was heading down. She could think about it later and ask Harry for his input. She was here on a mission, and what the headmaster himself had said made it an all the more important one.

"We're still spending the summer together." Before the headmaster could voice any further protests, Hermione gave voice to her ingenious – if she may say so herself – cover story. "The Dursleys won't be too upset. I'm the precious only daughter of two rich doctors, the right kind of people, who has a thing for bad boys. Harry is, after all, handsome enough in clothes that fit. And then there's the fact that my parents are _obligated_ to report neglect and abuse, and I can barely stand to be separated from the object of my affections."

"'Nevertheless, a prince should inspire fear in such a fashion that if he does not win love he may escape hate.'"

Hermione looked up at the headmaster, surprised. He had a hint of a frown on his face, at least until she asked, "Machiavelli?"

"Not all wizards and witches are ignorant of muggle culture, Miss Granger." The headmaster chuckled with a distant look in his eyes. "My muggleborn students often gift me fantasy novels. Most recently, I find myself enjoying _Reaper Man_ when I can find the time. A far more interesting Death than the magical world's version in _The Tale of the Three Brothers_ , if you ask me."

Hermione made a mental note to look up both books. One only had to spend a few hours with the headmaster to understand that he often dropped important hints in cryptic nonsense and otherwise innocuous statements. In all honesty, Hermione found it obnoxious, but she would hardly begrudge an old wizard his quirks.

A frown returned to the headmaster's face, and he adopted a far more serious tone. "Fear is a dangerous weapon, Miss Granger, and far too often it leads those who indulge in it down a darker path."

Hermione gnawed on her lip at the reprimand, muttering a quiet, "I understand." As much as they deserved whatever ill fate they got in the end, she could admit her thoughts toward the Dursleys were a bit more vindictive than righteous at times. They were awful people, and Harry deserved better, but justice was never _personal_.

"I'm not sure you do. Speaking from a Slytherin perspective, threats should only be employed when all else fails, for if they too fail, what then will it cost you to achieve your goals? What acts must you escalate to merely to maintain the status quo? Lord Malfoy's recent expulsion from the Board of Governors is a prime example. When the justification for his public actions eroded, he was left to contend with eleven very angry, very powerful individuals, many of whom would have taken action in some way against me without coercion. He earned their enmity and so ensured disaster for himself.

"Indeed, the master Slytherin uses a light touch, taking only what measures he needs must to reach his ends. More importantly, he never oversteps the limits of what his opponent will tolerate in their dealings unless prepared to destroy his foe so utterly as to leave them without recourse.

"The Dursleys are on the edge of that tipping point. Vernon Dursley is an exceedingly proud, stubborn man who firmly believes a man's home is his castle, yet he is forced to allow the unwelcome son of his in-laws to reside there to enjoy the protections the late members of the Evans family did not.

"Petunia Dursley's fear and dislike of magic – and unfortunately Harry – stems from her jealousy of her sister, as well as her less than pleasant interactions with a troubled young wizard as a child. The mere sight of Harry arouses those feelings, and yet even more so than her husband, she understands the necessity of his presence."

Headmaster Dumbledore paused for a moment, letting his lecture sink in, before adding, "Also, my own interferences in the household have often been heavy handed and, prior to Harry's first year at Hogwarts, numerous. Miss Granger, the Dursley home is a powder keg of emotion waiting for a spark."

Headmaster Dumbledore stopped there, his meaning perfectly clear: 'do not interfere with the Dursleys in any way or incite Harry to defy them'. But his words might as well have gone in one ear and out the other. Regardless of how much it'd hurt Harry if Hermione refused to visit him and took back _his_ rowan and unicorn hair wand, something inside of _her_ would break if she backed out now.

"I don't care," Hermione mumbled, feeling both guilty and small as well as proud for doing what she thought was right. "We'll be careful not to get… _too_ on their nerves." Some ruffled feathers were inevitable when Harry refused to waste his time with housework this summer.

 _Maybe we can just pay them to leave Harry alone. Mr. Dursley can't be so proud that he wouldn't take a bride as rent, could he? Not if Harry kept everything magical tucked away in his room._

A small little sigh escaped the headmaster. "Is there anything I can do to dissuade you from this course of action?"

Hermione, unable to help herself, gave the headmaster _a look_ to which he merely chuckled in response.

"Yes, I suppose if you knew of something, you wouldn't be insisting to begin with. Very well."

Hermione sat up a little straighter and her eyes widened.

"However, I need your oath not to antagonise the Dursleys."

"I promise!" was Hermione's instant reply.

" _And_ ," Headmaster Dumbledore added, "to discourage Harry from doing so as well." He fixed Hermione with a knowing gaze, and she had to wonder if he knew everything that had been said last night between her and Harry.

 _Surely not. He'd have given me a detention for being out after curfew if he knew, right?_

Only halfway successful in fighting back a nervous gulp, Hermione said, "I'll try…"

"No, Miss Granger. You won't try. You will, or you will find other plans for the summer. If the blood wards go down, short of sticking him to my robes, protecting Harry from the multitudinous avenues of attack that magic provides a truly determined adversary will prove untenable. Do I have your word?"

Hermione's gaze fell back down to her feet, and she felt herself only a moment away from drawing blood on her lower lip. Being able to harass the Dursleys _back_ was a big part of what she offered Harry last night. She never put it in those _exact_ words, but she more than suggested it. Going back on that – Harry would not be amused.

"I'll keep him out of as much trouble as I can without letting them waste his summer," Hermione finally promised, her voice quiet. There was a strange, empty feeling in her chest at making the promise. She got what she primarily came here for, yet even so, it felt like something had been lost at the same time.

"I suppose your intent is genuine enough. I will entrust to your honour that you keep to the spirit of your word." After Hermione mumbled a brief thanks, Headmaster Dumbledore said, "Harry Potter lives at Number Four Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey."

As soon as she heard those words, the knowledge suddenly flooded Hermione's head. _Of course_ Harry Potter lived there. He _had_ told her before, had he not? After all, where else would he live?

Hermione's thoughts ground to a halt for a second as she processed that. There was a kind of absolute certainty to that knowledge that nothing else had. "Fidelius?"

The headmaster nodded, now with his usual grandfatherly smile. "An excellent guess, Miss Granger. The secret is widely known, but the charm prevents someone from the magical world from finding Harry in the phone book just as well."

 _As if a Death Eater would look or even_ think _to look in a phone book._

"Don't be too hasty to dismiss the possibility."

Hermione let out a small squeak thinking the headmaster had read her mind. But since her eyes were looking nowhere near his, she concluded that he must have simply read her expression.

"I presume Harry has already told you Voldemort is muggle-raised," Headmaster Dumbledore said. After Hermione nodded, he continued, "As much as he loathes his muggle heritage, Voldemort is not above pursuing alternative means where magic fails him."

There was a hard look on the headmaster's face that made Hermione not want to ask how he knew that. War stories from the last magical war in particular were horrifying. Grindelwald killed. Voldemort tortured until his victims begged for death.

A shiver ran through Hermione and she quickly shifted her focus to more relatively pleasant affairs.

"Um, do you know who's in charge of Harry's finances?"

Without missing a beat, Headmaster Dumbledore replied, "In the absence of Harry's godparents, it would be the Dursleys as his guardians" – he held up a hand to forestall the protests that were already on Hermione's lips – "however, as they are muggles, I was able to take control of his vault. Might I ask what brings this up?"

While Hermione had a few ideas for expensive purchases she would like to co-own with Harry, it really all came back to the same overarching problem.

"Harry's life is awful, and sometimes throwing money at life's troubles makes them go away."

"And you want me to give him full authority over his finances?"

Hermione nodded. "Harry needs every advantage he can get. I refuse to bury my best friend."

For the longest time – which may have been but a second – the only sound to break the silence was the whirls and chimes of the various devices scattered about the headmaster's office.

"Miss Granger, speaking from experience, I know the lengths one will go to to avoid that very fate."

Unable to stop her natural curiosity in time, Hermione said, "Who…" trailing off as her brain finally told her mouth that finishing that sentence was horribly insensitive and a _very bad idea_. "Sorry."

"No offence taken. I'm an old man, Miss Granger. I've long since come to terms with my friend's failings, as well as my own. Young Harry, however, has not." Hermione could hardly miss the slight emphasis on 'young'. "I don't believe he is mature enough to have control over his finances."

"Maybe not yet," Hermione pled her case, "but he's being forced to grow up fast. And you learn to be responsible by being given responsibility. It's not something that magically appears when you turn seventeen."

Headmaster Dumbledore leaned forward and levelled a calculating look at Hermione. Then with a strange twinkle in his eyes and an even stranger twitch of his wrist, a small golden key appeared held between his fingers. He placed the key on his desk not far from her.

Surprised that that had actually worked without further argument, Hermione hesitated only for an instant before reaching her hand out for the key. Things usually never worked out quite this well for her, let alone Harry.

"If you take that" – Hermione's hand froze just shy of her prize – "it will be in trust for Harry as my proxy. You're right that responsibility is learnt, Miss Granger, but we do, in fact, pick it up as we grow older. Harry is still not ready to possess that key, but I would be willing to allow you two to attempt joint responsibility."

Hermione had to restrain herself from leaping across the desk to deliver a traditional Granger family hug. "Thank you!" she said, eagerly reaching for the key again.

"However" – again Hermione paused at the interruption, biting back a frustrated groan – "joint responsibility or not, you will ultimately be holding Harry's pursestrings. Aside from the archetypical test of your own avarice, this is not a responsibility to enter into lightly. Gold has ruined more than one friendship, and certainly more than one relationship."

"We're not–" Hermione protested, but Headmaster Dumbledore held up a hand.

"Perhaps not, but the point remains. When I hold this key, I am the wise old wizard who knows best and only wants the best for my ward. When you hold it, you are his friend and peer telling him how he may or may not spend his own galleons. He will take that _very_ personally, even should you justify your every decision to him at length."

Hermione stared at her own outstretched hand and then at the key below it. _I hadn't thought of it like that…_ But even as she thought the words, her magic was urging her to take it.

"If you accept this responsibility, you must also accept whatever consequences its possession brings your way."

Left to her own thoughts, Hermione found herself in a debate in her own mind. On one side was her own voice of reason, and on the other were the annoying urges fuelled by her own magic whose modus operandi was 'anything for Harry, even if it might not be a good idea'.

 _Harry would never let this come between us,_ was the first volley fired.

 _Otherwise perfectly functional_ marriages _have been torn apart by money,_ came the retort. _The headmaster was right to bring that up. We're just friends; what right do I even have to tell him no?_

 _So just don't say no._

 _That would be horrendously irresponsible._

 _Harry is responsible enough. I may be held accountable to the headmaster, but Harry won't do anything that I'll need to be held accountable for._

Hermione had no retort for that. Despite what Headmaster Dumbledore thought, she really did think Harry was responsible enough for her to give him carte blanche. Still, the headmaster was a lot older and had taught _a lot_ of children; he was overwhelmingly more qualified to judge who was responsible enough to manage a couple thousand galleons or so.

 _So just take the key and don't tell Harry you have it until there's an emergency where we actually_ need _it._

 _Harry would never forgive me if I kept something like this from him._

 _He might not forget, but he'll forgive. He_ always _forgives. Remember that whole self-esteem issue of his?_

Hermione blanched that that disgusting thought had so much as entered her mind and immediately discarded the entire train of logic that preceded it.

 _So take the key and tell him the option is available if necessary, then,_ the voice arguing for said. _He could hardly find fault with 'emergency only' access to his vault._

 _I'd still be lying to him…_

An odd feeling of Hermione imagining throwing her hands up at herself passed through her head. _Foolish girl. Just take the key. Whatever happens, happens._

 _That's the kind of childish irresponsibility that makes the headmaster balk at giving Harry sole control of his vault!_

 _Bah! The responsible thing to do is to take the key. The only thing staying our hand is–_

Hermione tried to shut down that thought before it finished, but the meaning was already floating around in her head waiting to be put into words.

 _You didn't even stop to think about taking the key before the headmaster gave his warning. Face it. You're absolutely terrified of losing your only friend._

 _Ron is…_

 _Hermione Jean Granger, we both know Ron is Harry's friend, not yours. When was the last time you two said two words to each other that weren't about Harry or Ron's homework?_

 _Susan–_

 _Is just a lab partner that we get stuck with when Harry wants to sit with Ron. Even if she_ is _good company. Same with Neville._

This was almost as bad as wearing the Sorting Hat again. In fact, Hermione glanced the hat's way to make sure it really was off doing whatever talking hats do when not on students' heads. As always, it rested atop a bookshelf, both out of the way and not moving.

 _This is to keep him safe._ Hermione paused, rethinking her word choice. _Well, to keep him in less mortal peril. You're a Gryffindor. The rest will sort itself out. Take that key!_

And Hermione almost did, but her thoughts ground to a halt as she realised something.

 _Wait, wait, wait. This is the same problem Harry has, the same problem we berate him for over and over again: always trying to do everything alone. I can just give the key to Mum and Dad. Really, when would I be at Gringotts without them?_

 _When they're busy at the surgery. Or when they make plans while you're visiting Harry alone. Or when you wind up in Diagon Alley on one of Harry's harebrained plans during the school year. Or when–_

 _I get the point,_ Hermione complained to herself.

 _Really, that's why we wanted to get the key from the headmaster to begin with. We don't want to have to hunt down someone to access Harry's vault._

Biting back a sigh, Hermione acceded to what she'd wanted to do to begin with and reached out with her hand, this time successfully retrieving the key.

"Very well, Miss Granger–"

Hermione jumped at being reminded the headmaster was still here, which elicited a chuckle from him, much to her chagrin.

"I will try to have the paperwork sorted out before the end of the term. If I cannot, I'll send word to you. Until then, please refrain from using that key."

"Of course! Thank you! I – I didn't actually expect you to…"

Headmaster Dumbledore chuckled again. "Professor McGonagall trusts you with a time-turner. I see no reason why I cannot entrust you with a few galleons."

It felt a bit like comparing apples and oranges to Hermione, but she could hardly complain.

"You will, of course, keep me abreast of any major expenditures?"

"Yes, of course! Um, actually, there was one thing."

The headmaster raised an eyebrow questioningly, prompting Hermione to gather what courage she needed to suggest what could easily be construed as a frivolous purchase. After everything else, it was child's play.

"Harry wanted to work on potions over the summer, but we'd need space and ingredients. I haven't asked him yet, but I thought we could both contribute to…one of those tents that are bigger on the inside, but preferably not a tent. I know they're expensive, but I'd bet Harry would want one in the future, anyway. _My parents_ want one already, and I want one, too. They're so…"

Hermione trailed off, blushing, having just then realised how close she was to going full _Doctor Who_ fangirl in front of the headmaster of all people. Not that he was unamused.

"I have no issues with Harry spending money on educational opportunities, so long as anything he gets is used for _school appropriate_ reasons."

No, surely the headmaster was not suggesting…

"Which reminds me. Ten points to Gryffindor for excellent charms work, Miss Granger."

Hermione let out a small, "Eep!" Then with a far worse blush than only moments ago, she stammered, "W-we – we didn't do anything! We were talking, and Harry fell asleep, and there weren't any astronomy classes last night, and…" In an even smaller voice, she asked, "How did you find out?"

Headmaster Dumbledore had a terribly serious expression, and his voice matched perfectly. "Rumours in Hogwarts are themselves rumoured to spread…unnaturally fast."

"I see…" Hermione very much did not see, but the sooner the matter was dropped, the better.

"If I may offer some advice, Miss Granger. Never admit to a midnight rendezvous with a lover."

"I said Harry and I aren't like that!" Hermione protested, burning from cheek to cheek.

"Oh? Did I mention Harry?"

Hermione let out a strangled noise. "May I go?" she eventually managed.

"Of course. I enjoyed our little chat today immensely. Please give my regards to Harry."

Hermione refused to dignify that with a response, instead rising from her chair and making her way to the door with all due haste. She was just about to open it when a thought struck her. For a few seconds she struggled against her curiosity before succumbing.

Still mortified, Hermione carefully asked with a controlled, level tone, "Headmaster? Do you know anything about the disappearing-steps?"

"A curious quirk of the castle. There are eleven known such steps spread throughout the castle, and by volume account for the overwhelming majority of school injuries. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," Hermione replied. Then because it was obvious and Magical Britain never did obvious, she asked, "Have you ever tried putting, say, a board above them?"

"Of course," was all Headmaster Dumbledore said, smiling a mysterious smile.

Since the headmaster either knew nothing more or was not inclined to share, Hermione resumed her hasty retreat out the door, uttering a quick, "Thank you. Good day."

"One last thing."

Hermione paused halfway out the door and turned back inside. "Yes?"

"It should be sufficient for Harry to spend only the nights at the Dursleys, but he will have to do so the entire summer. I will monitor the blood wards more closely in the coming months and be in contact if I'm wrong."

Smiling again, her blush and embarrassment completely gone, Hermione said, "Thank you. I'm sure Harry will be ecstatic to hear that."

"I believe so, too," Headmaster Dumbledore said with a small, almost sad smile. "Take care of him, and please exercise caution when out and about."

After thanking the headmaster again and saying goodbye, Hermione had just stepped onto the staircase down from the Headmaster's Tower when a horrifying thought occurred to her.

"People _gossip_ with time-turners!"

The faint echo of deep, booming laughter emanated from the headmaster's office.

* * *

"Harry?" Hermione tentatively said from behind him. He jumped in surprise before spinning in place.

"Hermione, there you are. I've been looking all over for you."

"Sorry."

"Professor McGonagall wanted to see you sometime, by the way." Rather sheepishly, Harry added, "Probably my fault. She didn't really say why, but you're not in trouble, apparently."

 _Maybe I need to drop muggle studies in person?_ For a moment Hermione actually thought about skiving off the meeting to keep the class, but that would be grossly inappropriate. Besides, Harry had, unfortunately, made surprisingly good arguments to not take the class.

"I'm sure it's no big deal," Hermione said. "Did everything go well for you?"

Harry waved a hand from side-to-side. "I'm on the same trial period over the summer with her as with you."

A small smile tugged at Hermione's lips. "So yes, then."

"If you say so," Harry said, shrugging. "Anyway, where were you?"

Hermione hesitated to reply. Harry was not going to be happy about the cease fire between him and the Dursleys she'd agreed to enforce. And there was the issue of his vault key, which while she was sure it would lift his spirits, she was still worried about. Headmaster Dumbledore's warning still preyed upon her mind. But the promise of only having to spend the night at the Dursleys should make up for it all.

Deciding to open with something innocuous, Hermione said, "I asked the headmaster about the disappearing-steps."

"That's brilliant! I didn't even think of that. Ah! I should've asked Professor McGonagall earlier."

Hermione shrugged. "The headmaster said there were at least eleven of them, but that's about it. He's been here a lot longer than any other professor, so there's probably not much known."

"Probably," Harry agreed. "Well, do you have any idea why you can step on it – er, them, I suppose?"

"Not really. Not yet, anyway. But there's…more. While I was with the headmaster, I got permission for us to visit each other."

Harry frowned at that. "Do you really think we need permission?" Unsaid were the words 'to do what everyone else takes for granted'.

Trying a neutral response, Hermione said, "Better to ask permission and disobey than to be reprimanded later for not asking." Before Harry could insert the usual joke at her breaking the rules, she added, "Besides, your house is under a fidelius charm."

"A what?"

Hermione forced down a groan and raised the priority of giving Harry a crash course in the world's big, important magicks in her mental schedule. She desperately needed to force him to read a magical encyclopedia or two no matter how much he would hate her for it.

"Basically, it keeps your home hidden from anyone who hasn't been told where it is. I wouldn't have been able to find it without Headmaster Dumbledore telling me the address."

"No one has had trouble before…" Harry mumbled with a thoughtful, if confused, expression on his face. "No, there was that one time with the ambulance when Dudley broke his leg."

"But, Harry" – Hermione tugged on the sleeve of Harry's robe, drawing him from his reflections – "I had to promise to…keep the peace."

It took a few seconds for Hermione's meaning to work its way through Harry's system. Confusion, realisation, anger, then resignation – each emotion in turn showed on his face.

"That's fine," Harry said, though his voice was obviously strained.

"Harry–"

"No. It's fine, Hermione. Really. They were…fine last summer when they thought I could do magic at home. I can live with that. One little display and they'll back off."

Her doubt surely showed on her face, but Hermione let it go for the moment. They could return to it tonight or tomorrow after Harry had had time to process it.

"I do have good news, though, and even better news."

Harry managed a smile and raised his eyebrows, silently asking her to continue.

Hermione withdrew the golden key from her robe pocket and held it out in the palm of her hand. "I got your vault key under the condition that I don't let you spend all your money on candy."

Blushing and now sufficiently distracted, Harry asked, "You heard about that?"

"Mm-hmm. You and Ron _completely_ deserved the stomach aches you got your first night here."

Harry groaned. Hermione could only guess whether it was from the memory or from her lack of mercy.

"Anyway, I take it I have to go through you now for expenditures?"

"So it seems, although technically it's 'joint responsibility'. I tried to get the key just for you, but the headmaster said you were too young."

"He does know you're only a year older than me, right?"

Hermione let out a chuckle or two. "I think the idea was that the only time we'll agree to buy something is when it's actually important. No fantasy libraries for me, and no state-of-the-art broomsticks for you."

"How will we ever survive?"

"I think we'll manage." The smirk fell from Hermione's face. "Is that okay? That I have your vault key? I can take it back."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "Who else would we give it to? Draco Malfoy?"

"Heh. Nevermind." Of course Harry would be fine with it. It was just money, after all, money Harry had no idea he even had until he was eleven. It was nice to have, but hardly what he really wanted. _I'm an awful friend to have even worried._

"I do suppose it's only proper that we finally make it official, though. How does forty galleons a week sound?"

"Huh? For what?"

"For your job, of course. Do you want me to call you Miss Granger or Governess?"

Hermione smacked a hand to her forehead. Stretching her face down as her hand fell, she mumbled, "You prat."

"What? Not enough?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course it's not. I want hazard pay."

"I could hardly argue otherwise," Harry admitted somewhat glumly. "Was that the good news or the better news?"

"The good. The better news is if you don't flee the Dursleys' halfway through the summer, the headmaster said you should only have to spend the nights there."

Harry's eyes widened immediately, all gloomy thoughts clearly banished from his mind. "Hermione, you are a miracle worker."

Chuckling quietly to herself, Hermione said, "I try."

"So what's the plan for today?" Harry asked when they were finally done simply enjoying the moment. Good news was far too rare these days.

"Well, I _was_ thinking about getting you started on charms review, but I think even before that, an in-depth tour of the library and a survey of magic in general is in order." Over Harry's groan, Hermione said, "None of that now. It's not like I'm going to make you _read_. Not today at least."

After sighing, Harry replied, "Lead on, then. I've come to terms with my tragic fate."

Hermione shook her head at the ridiculous melodrama but still did as he said. There was a lot to do today, and Hermione was willing to bet Harry still had to do his homework for tomorrow, too.

As the pair entered the library, Hermione took in the wonderful scent of old books that filled the air, and her eyes scanned the shelves upon shelves of unread books. Truly there was no greater place in all of Hogwarts.

"Now then," Hermione began, "the library is primarily organised by subject like a muggle library, but Ms. Pince's idea of 'subject' gets a little odd at times…"


	3. Serious Plans

**A/N:** JKR owns Harry Potter.

* * *

Act One - Best Friends  
Chapter Three - Serious Plans

Not for the first time tonight, Hermione found herself marvelling at just how much easier this was with a partner. Rather than a complex series of clamps, gears, and wheels, she simply held a gouge in her wand – and dominate – hand against the rod of rowan wood as it spun on her transfigured lathe. Granted she was no professional woodturner, but carving a stick into a smaller stick was easy enough.

In the background, the whirl of gears produced a humming sound that could be heard even over the grind of wood shaving away on the lathe. Underneath all that, Harry could be heard sprawling around on a small pile of pillows nearby, never fully settled. He held his own rowan wand pointed at a large wooden wheel under the effect of a mobiliarbus spell, turning endlessly to power the lathe.

The entire setup was inefficient, but it was far easier than turning the wheel by hand or foot. Hermione had originally tried using a proper motor, hoping that magic only interfered with sensitive electronics, but it took her less than an hour to determine the problem was with magnetic fields, not electric. At Hogwarts, a mundane compass went crazy, an electric motor jittered unpredictably, but a light bulb, that would work just fine – well, mostly.

Frustrating, yes, but with Harry turning the wheel now while reading, she could not care less – well, not much, anyway. Sometimes her human-powered motor also had malfunctions.

"Problems, Harry?" Hermione called out from halfway across the room. Said boy refused to sit anywhere near in range of stray wood shavings. For her own protection, she had her hair and sleeves tied up and wore goggles.

A second passed, and Hermione had to call out to Harry again before she stole his attention away from his book.

"Sorry," Harry replied distractedly, raising his wand back up into position. He ran through the wand movements for the mobiliarbus spell, having to try three times before he got it to work.

Hermione frowned. Only a couple hours ago, Harry had mastered the spell under her own guidance. She was sure he did it right the first two times, too.

"Is that wand working properly for you?"

Harry looked back up from his book again after painfully tearing himself away from it. This _would_ have been a good time to poke fun at him about reading not being so bad, but Hermione would rather not risk upsetting the apple cart, especially considering the subject matter he was on.

After some thought, Harry nodded. "It's fine, just different. Well, more totally opposite, but whatever."

Hermione was tempted to end the conversation there and let them both get back to their equally engrossing projects, but she indulged her curiosity for the moment. "What do you mean?"

The spell turning the lathe broke, and the gears slowly whined to a stop. The noise gone, Harry said, "My wand is like…like… Okay, don't laugh, but it's like throwing a cricket ball at a target from a mountaintop, and this one is like throwing it from the ground, or a valley, or something. Mine goes farther, but it's harder to hit the target with…wind and distance, I guess. I don't know. That metaphor kind of broke down somewhere."

"Simile," Hermione corrected. "Comparisons using like or as are similes, not metaphors."

"Same difference."

Hermione just shook her head at that. "I think I understand what you're getting at, though. Your holly and phoenix wand casts spells in unstable equilibrium, and your rowan and unicorn one is in a comparable stable equilibrium."

To Harry's blank look, Hermione elaborated, "In unstable equilibrium, you're at a local maximum, and a little push in either direction causes you to change rapidly away, like being pushed off a mountaintop, so your spells are powerful but need to be precise."

Hermione stopped there to let Harry fill in the rest by himself, which after a few seconds of thought, he did.

"Then continuing with the _simile_ " – Hermione rolled her eyes – "stable equilibrium is like pushing someone up a mountain. Lots of work, and they just roll back to the bottom. Right?"

"I don't think 'roll' is the word you're looking for, but yes, basically. By the way, on a graph, the terms are crest and trough for peaks and valleys. That's more a calculus thing, I think, but I'll probably quiz you on it sometime over the summer anyway."

Harry groaned, but that soon changed to laughter as Hermione sent off an opportunistic cheering charm with just a little too much power. Hermione herself was rather glad that had worked, as she was spared the embarrassment of messing up; her first and only read-through of the third year charms text in the library had been too long ago.

"I'm so glad you agree maths is fun," Hermione said without a hint of sarcasm. "Anyway, try putting more power into your spells without worrying as much about form."

Once the cheering charm wore off and Harry stopped laughing enough to speak, his rowan wand flowed through the motions for – _Oh, shoot!_

"Rictusempra," Harry said quietly, as if Hermione had no idea what was coming. A silver light flew from his wand at the same time that Hermione tried to leap from her chair out of the way.

Unfortunately, Hermione was a moment too slow. The spell connected with her shoulder. As she fumbled with her wand, she bit down the growing urge to break into laughter as her entire body felt like it was being brushed with feathers. Her feet in particular were subjected to the cruelest and most bushy of them all. Finally when she went to speak the words to break the charm, it became all too much.

"F-f-finite," Hermione eventually managed between giggles and the occasional desperate wheeze for air. She collapsed onto her back where she fell earlier and breathed deep, the occasional lingering chuckle escaping her.

"You're right. Works like a charm."

Hermione groaned at the pun, wincing at the perfect setup Harry had to return the favour for earlier. But then he probably thought she'd hit him with a tickling charm, not a cheering charm.

In a weak voice, Hermione said, "I am so going to get you for this."

"You can try."

 _Oh, I will_ , Hermione thought to herself as she plotted her revenge. "What is it I'm supposed to say? Tonight, if you want? Wizard's duel? Wands only – no contact? Midnight in the trophy room?"

Harry scoffed, "Ha! As if I'd fall for that again."

"Hmm, too bad." Finally with her breathing completely under control, Hermione closed her eyes and let herself relax and her mind wander. "Awfully sexist, that. 'Wizard's duel'."

"I suppose," Harry replied idly. "There really was no reason to call it a wizard's duel. I guess with muggle-raised, 'magical duel' would be unambiguous. Would that be better?"

"Hardly. It'd be an insult to witches. We're not that pigheaded."

"Oh, ha ha."

Time passed in an easy silence, neither wanting to break the peace. There really never was enough time to simply lie down and enjoy each other's company. But like all things, it eventually came to an end.

"Hey, Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"If you don't mind, what's your wand like?"

Hermione picked up her wand from where it rested on the ground and held it up on the palm of her hand. "If you charm me while wandless, you _will_ pay."

"Wouldn't think of it," Harry replied, and Hermione had a hard time of it deciding if he was lying or not – about the thinking of it, not the doing. She could trust him enough not to tickle her when she was unarmed. "Mobiliarbus."

A silver light surrounded Hermione's wand, just bright enough to make the tips of her fingers seem to glow. It drifted off out of her sight toward Harry. Straining her neck, she saw him catch it in his off hand before switching to his wand hand.

"Hermione…"

Hermione rolled over and groaned as she sat upright, her back somewhat stiff from lying on the hard floor. "What is it?"

Frowning, Harry thrust Hermione's wand up and said, "Lumos." The tone of his voice on the second syllable clearly foreshadowed the results. "Lumos," he said again, meeting with another failure. "How do you work with this thing?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione had never had any problems with her wand, although she did have to admit it felt a lot different than the rowan and unicorn hair wand Harry had now.

"It's… I don't know how to put it. It feels…sceptical?"

"I guess that makes sense. Ollivander – well, you know how I feel about what he said, but he said that vine wands are extremely loyal, and the dragon heartstring reinforces that. Except you could 'win it from me', whatever that means. I've lost my wand in a few duels, but it's still _my_ wand."

Harry shrugged. Then he picked up his own wand again and sent Hermione's floating back across the room.

"So when it actually works, what is it like?"

"Promise not to laugh?" Hermione asked. Only once Harry had both nodded and so vowed orally, she continued, "Opposites. I'm usually not…poetic, but there's really no other way to put it. It sings in joy. It burns in wrath. It loves me just as surely as it loathes my enemies. It's…eager. The bigger the spell, the better. When I cast a spell, it feels like my magic wants to rip itself in two and explode, but explode in a useful way. It's – it feeds into itself, I guess. That probably sounds weird, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. The surge of power and emotion – good or bad – that comes with it, it's almost euphoric."

As she spoke, Hermione could feel the slow buildup of magic spreading through her from her chest out to her limbs, seeping its way into her fingertips. Her wand sung in her hand, eagerly awaiting direction. A spell, anything right now would be fine; her magic demanded to be given form in the world.

"Hermione!"

Hermione blinked. She blinked again as she realised that Harry was shaking her by the shoulders. Then there came a great crash from all around her – metal, wood, cloth, parchment, books, everything fell to the ground.

And through it all, Hermione cringed as she heard a snapping sound behind her. The wand she _had_ been working on had probably just snapped in half.

Between blushing and a sigh, the sigh won out. Looking around, Hermione asked, "Accidental magic?" just to be sure.

Harry nodded. "Aside from me, you levitated pretty much everything not bolted down."

Hermione took in the disordered state of their commandeered classroom. Indeed, pretty much everything that could be flipped over was, barring of course Harry and the extremely heavy desk by the door.

"How about we just call this a record and forget about this magical equivalent of wetting the bed?"

Despite his snicker, Harry agreed to her terms and then quickly went about setting the room back to rights. During their task, Hermione did indeed find a snapped, half-formed wand between moving parts in her lathe. Wands were supposed to be irreparable, so she sighed and burnt it to ashes. There was no sense leaving evidence behind in the rubbish.

Once everything was back in order, Hermione plucked another rowan twig from her bundle, thankful that she put in the unicorn hairs last. Finding the first unicorn had been more of a pain than she let on to Harry, and she _was not_ looking forward to doing it again.

Sighing, Hermione started on the arduous task of removing the bark from the wood. There was probably a spell for this somewhere in the library – besides mobiliarbus, which was just as tedious – but it remained secreted away on whatever shelf Ms. Pince had it. Really, if she had any problem with Hogwarts's library, it was how impossible it was to find obscure spells in it.

Bit by bit, Hermione tore the bark away, building a steady rhythm of snaps and cracks. This was her fifth try tonight, and after so many failures, she was ready to cave into Harry's demands to just try to make a _functioning_ wand rather than a _better_ wand. Once she had the initial shaving finished, she would fix Harry's rowan wand on the near side of the lathe and use it as a guide.

Really, there was nothing fancy to be done; it was only a truncated cone with minor detail work for a handle. And then the tip needed to be rounded, but that was easy, too. Any fool could do it. The part that Hermione was sure kept causing malfunctions and explosions had to be in inserting the unicorn hair.

Hermione frowned as she set up the lathe once more. Surely there had to be some secret beyond drilling a cavity and plugging it after; far too many expensive wand cores would be lost otherwise. But even if there were such a secret, she doubted Ollivander would just tell her if she asked. _If only I knew a wandmaker who wouldn't ask questions_ back _. Or a wandmaker easy to get information out of, like Hagrid._ She silently added an apology to the man.

The last screw tightened, Hermione turned to Harry. "I'm ready whenever you are."

"Huh?" Harry looked up from his books again. "Oh. Right. Mobiliarbus."

This time Harry got the spell right on his first try. The gears whined, protested the movement, but were soon enough up to speed and humming their own brand of music again.

This time Hermione was able to complete her task without interruptions. Having carved away the remaining bark and levelled the stick into a cylinder, Hermione withdrew her vine wand and said, "I'm ready for the base model."

Harry held his rowan wand up on his palm, and with a few graceful flicks of her wrist, Hermione brought it over to her workstation. One clamp, two, and it was in place.

Holly wand already out, at Hermione's nod, Harry set the lathe to turning once more. This was the hard part. Granted it required no more skill than any other, but one small mistake could potentially ruin the wand completely. Scratches were fine; missing chunks and unplanned furrows were not.

Several minutes of intense concentration later, Hermione sat back in her chair and lifted her goggles. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her robe and took a deep breath. Right about now would be a great time to have a water bottle, but alas, she did not.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said.

Hermione lifted her gouge back up just before she cut into the wand again. "Yes?"

"Do you think… Is there any… Nevermind."

Glancing at the page of the book Harry was on, Hermione assumed he was currently reading about the end of the war, the Potters, the Longbottoms, and the three tragedies. It was hard to tell, but she thought she recognised a picture of Peter Pettigrew.

Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket and cast a finite on the lathe wheel. That part would need to be transfigured again, but it cut off the spell powering the machine, and the noise died down.

"What is it, Harry? I'm not an expert, but I can at least point you in the right direction."

"I… Do you think we could find Remus Lupin? He's still alive, right?"

Hermione sat in silence for the longest time trying hard to remove the thorns from her reply.

"He was seen after the attack on the Longbottoms." It was the truth, even if it was an obvious deflection Hermione was sure Harry would pick up on. "If he's alive, he must have a good reason for not contacting you."

Harry was shaking now. Hermione could see it from halfway across the room, and she leapt from her seat to cross the distance.

"Do you think that maybe he was the one?"

Placing herself right beside Harry, Hermione asked, "The one wha…" _Oh, Merlin. I hope he's not thinking what I think he is._ Slowly, gently, Hermione pulled Harry into a hug, one that for once he just relaxed into. "Harry, I won't go so far as to say it's impossible, but there are DMLE records for the arrest of Sirius Black. That text references them, so the events of his arrest, at least, are accurate."

"But why else wouldn't he at least introduce himself to me? If Lupin was the betrayer, he could've done it all. He just had to imperius Black, and it all makes sense. The fidelius would be broken. The two loose ends who might be able to point the finger at him would be taken care of. He would get off scot-free. Did you know Black never got a trial?"

Hermione bit her lip as she deliberated on how to ruin Harry's day gently. He clearly had a lot of thought put into this. Who knew how he'd have taken this if he'd met Lupin – or even Black – with even less knowledge of his infancy than a random witch off the street? Would he be happy just to have someone there? Would he be inventing these conspiracies?

"Lots of people never got trials at the end of the war," Hermione tentatively began. "It's awful, but it wasn't unusual. And Black was caught laughing covered in blood with an enormous number of witnesses. The burnt toe of Peter Pettigrew was found at the site, and there was a burnt and…bludgeoned rat missing a toe nearby."

"That doesn't mean he did it," Harry whispered, clutching the back of Hermione's robes tightly.

"No, it doesn't. But Harry, I don't want you to get your hopes up. Black was an auror. They're trained to resist the imperius."

"But he's my godfather…" Harry's hoarse voice gave out on him. "He wouldn't… He couldn't… Why…"

Hermione rubbed Harry's back, letting him quietly whimper out of sight, if not out of earshot.

"I don't know if this will help, and all I have to offer is conjecture, so stop me if you want." Harry made no motion toward either direction, so Hermione continued, "There are a lot of theories cobbled together about why Black might have betrayed your parents. According to _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ , the man himself rarely says more than that it's his fault."

Hermione gulped at the thought of Azkaban and perhaps wisely decided not to tell Harry _why_ Black never said much more than that anymore. This was not the time to _properly_ introduce the hell that passed for a jail in Magical Britain to him. If she had her way, dementors would remain just another dark magical creature for him.

"I think… Oh, Harry, you've heard what the Black family was like. They were like Draco Malfoy, but twice as loud about it. When you grow up in that kind of environment, it's amazing just that Sirius had it in him to question those beliefs.

"When his brother, Regulus, was killed in Quirrelmort's service, I think it changed him. Their relationship was supposed to be…complicated; they hated each other, but not like Sirius and his parents loathed each other. They was still brothers; the hate was _personal_. A lot of muggles will tell you that blood is thicker than water, and that belief runs especially deep in the magical world. There's so many practical, magical reasons for it.

"Family comes first, it's such a deep-seated belief that Sirius, being raised in the magical world in such a traditional family, surely held it, too. I'm just guessing from what I've read, but for a time, I think he thought of the Potters as his family. They took him in when he was disowned. But then his brother died, and…maybe he felt like he had to do something, like he had to avenge him. Caught between two families, forced to betray one forever, I think he just made a bad choice."

Hermione pushed herself off of Harry, retaining hold of him by his shoulders. Unsurprisingly, she found him with a few tears trailing down his cheeks. She rubbed them away with her thumb and palm.

"But you know what I think?"

Harry shook his head.

"Family is obligated to care. It hurts when they don't, or when they're not around, but it's nothing special when they do." Hermione flashed the best smile she could manage right now. "I know I don't have much right to say this, but friends – true friends, mind, not just people you hang out with. I've always thought they were what's special. They _choose_ to care. They _choose_ to be there for you through the good and the bad."

"Hermione…" Harry said weakly.

Hermione shook her head. This was something she'd been wanting to say for the longest time now. Better it be said now and when he was young and impressionable. It was past time Harry stopped pinning after things that were forever gone and looked to the future before he did something crazy.

Really, that was why last year in the potions puzzle room Hermione had finally stamped out her childish fancy for him. Neither Harry nor anyone he ended up with would ever be truly happy if half of him was always stuck in the past.

 _Merlin, but I'm glad I never finished that 'books and cleverness' line. Things would have gotten so awkward._

Hermione shook her head again, getting her thoughts back on track. With any luck, she could start shifting Harry's focus completely onto the here and now.

"Harry, I don't think I can understand the feelings you have to deal with, not as well as I would like. If it helps, feel free to consider me, and Ron, and the Weasleys, and even the Tonkses as your family. I won't ask of you otherwise. But for me, I'm always going to think of you as my friend, because the people I choose to be with and who choose to be with me, who _are_ with me, they're what's important to me. Just…think about that, maybe?"

His voice was still hoarse, but Harry said, "I will. And…thank you. I think. For talking about that. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like…"

As Harry fumbled around for the right words, Hermione suggested, "Like I was more invested in us than you were?"

"Yeah. That."

Hermione sent a genuine smile back Harry's way. "Don't worry. I've always known that our ideas of family and friends are flipped around. We just have different words for the same thing." She then waited until he at least appeared to stop feeling guilty, before asking, "If it doesn't bother you that I ask, how long have you been thinking about…" Not finding a succinct and innocuous way to phrase it, she merely gestured to the still open books nearby.

"A few days," Harry replied quietly. He cringed as he added, "I started reading at the end."

Knowing exactly what that cringe was about, Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to scold you for starting at the end of a history textbook. Or any textbook, but especially not history. Do you want me to go grab you a physics book about the Big Bang? That's where history starts."

That managed to get a chuckle out of Harry, much to Hermione's relief.

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione continued, running with the joke. "I only have to punish you if you start a novel at the end. You haven't, have you? You did look guilty earlier. For all I know, these history books are just a cover."

"No! Please spare me! I'm innocent!" Harry pled in jest.

Hermione levelled a critical eye on him, humming in thought. "No, you are clearly guilty, but I am a merciful soul. I shall grant you clemency in return for your continued servitude tonight."

"Oh." Harry's eyes widened at the reminder. "I completely forgot about – I'm sorry for interrupting. I didn't ruin another one, did I?"

Speaking a bit scoldingly, Hermione replied, "Harry, there's very few things and very few times that I would mind being interrupted, and this and now was not one of them. But no, since you ask. I need another five, ten minutes, maybe, to finish the carving."

"Ah. Good."

Hermione knew that face. The expression Harry wore as he said those words was the same one he had last year when he thought about the Mirror of Erised, the one he wore when he was thinking about something he knew he should most definitely not.

"You're still thinking about him, aren't you?"

Harry looked down at the ground, shame showing on his face. "I'd never even heard of Remus Lupin before. My godfather being wrongly imprisoned isn't really that strange when lined up with all the other unusual events in my life, is it?"

Rather begrudgingly, Hermione admitted, "No."

Harry sighed, no doubt at the tone of her voice. "It's just easier to hope than to hate."

"Just don't hope too hard," Hermione said. She received a small nod in return before she got back to her feet. Turning about, she made it only a few steps away before Harry spoke again.

"Do you know if Azkaban allows visitors?"

Hermione froze. There was more than enough misery in Harry's life without putting him into contact with _dementors_ , who _literally_ stole your happiness with their mere presence. Then at the very bottom of Azkaban, where the worst offenders were kept with the dementors, awaited Sirius Black. It was almost certain that his and Harry's meeting would end in heartbreak.

"I…don't know," Hermione answered honestly. "Susan would. You _could_ ask her."

"Hermione, I _have_ to know." Harry's voice was resolute. "I _have_ to know why my family is in pieces."

"Harry" – Hermione crouched down so that her arms rested on her knees and she was at eye level with him – "I want to support you in this, but… Isn't it painfully obvious that no matter what answer you get, it's going to _hurt_? I think this is one of those things you're going to regret immediately after it's done."

"I still have to."

Hermione's head drooped as she muttered a curse on her own house's virtues. "Fine. But you are absolutely not going there without some way to protect yourself from dementors. I'll ask…" Gilderoy Lockhart, while technically not fired yet, was unavailable and would be unhelpful even if he were. "Well, a lot of defencive spells are charms, so I'll ask Professor Flitwick if he knows something."

"Of course," Harry readily agreed to Hermione's completely reasonable terms. "No reason to invite more trouble than necessary."

"Harry, you are trouble incarnate." With that last retort, Hermione rose back to her full height. As soon as she arrived at her workstation, she transfigured a replacement input wheel and locked it into place. "Fire it up, Harry."

From the other side of the room, Hermione heard, "Mobiliarbus," and she set to work. Seven minutes later – she was very pleased with herself for her earlier estimate – the primary work was finished. She flipped a switch on the gearbox, switching from lathe mode to drill mode. From there, it was quick work to create a hollow for the core.

Hermione flipped yet another switch, and the sander went active. Using that, she rounded out the tip of the wand to have a pleasant hemispherical shape, which _probably_ served more than an aesthetic purpose. There were too few data points to really tell one way or another, but there must be a reason all of Ollivander's wands had rounded tips.

Done with that, Hermione picked up a small velvet bag. From inside, she withdrew three unicorn hairs and set about braiding them together. The task was frustrating and involved a number of attempts, but eventually she succeeded and slid the braid inside the wand-to-be. With luck, it made it all the way in without coming unravelled or bunching up. Hermione was reasonably sure that the latter was one of the key problems that caused her wands to explode.

Lastly, Hermione had to create the plug for the hollow. She was one-hundred percent sure she was doing this step wrong. Ollivander had told her something vague about wrestling the core into the wand, not that _that_ made any sense. But still, her method worked – or at least had proven to be _workable_. And that reminded her that Harry needed a warning about his rowan wand.

"Harry, one thing I forgot to mention. Don't take your wand to a desert, or the bottom might fall out. Or anywhere else extremely cold or dry."

Rightfully confused, Harry asked, "Why?"

Hermione first set aside the partially finished wand and then cast a warming charm on herself. Then as she set about creating a small, utterly freezing, dry area around her workstation, Hermione explained, "Everything expands when heated, and wood expands with increasing humidity. The only way I could think of sealing the wand core in without magic was to use a plug that's bigger than the hole. It'll come loose under similar conditions. The lacquer coating should help with that, but don't count on it."

"Huh. Alright," was all Harry said in reply.

Back at her workstation, Hermione felt her spare rowan wood had sufficiently cooled and eyeballed the approximate diameter she would need and marked it with a regular muggle Sharpie. If it was too big, she could just shave off more. It only cost time spent in boredom.

At her word, Harry started up the sander again, and soon Hermione had her plug. She also had some minor burns from her fingers touching the sander, but that was a small price to pay and easily fixed.

A few minutes later once the heat from the sanding had dispersed naturally, Hermione positioned herself half in the cold and half out. In her right hand she held the main part of the wand. In her left, she held the tiny plug. Taking a deep breath, she began.

Hermione slapped the plug down onto the table in the warm part of the room with her left hand. With her right hand, she brought down the rest of the wand and was pleased to find that the plug fit with only a little pressure applied. In that position, she held the wand upright with the base flat on the table for several minutes, waiting for the plug to warm enough to wedge.

"Is it done yet?" Harry asked for perhaps the millionth time, hovering over her work.

"Well, it still needs a lacquer coating and a polish, but if you mean can it cast spells…" Hermione lifted the wand a fraction of an inch, finding that the plug came up with it. So satisfied, she said, "Would you?" gesturing with her head at his wand.

That was another reason why having a partner for this was wonderful. It was a lot easier to test safely.

"Protego," Harry said, his wrist flicking through the trivial wand movement for the simple shield spell. Honestly, there was no reason whatsoever that the spell was fifth year defence material. The earlier years focused on defence from dangerous magical creatures over other wizards and witches, yes, but there was _still_ no excuse.

Now protected, Hermione thrust the new wand up. "Lumos!" The tip lit just as it was supposed to, prompting Hermione to jump up and down shouting, "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"Hermione, I don't think I could say this enough times a day. You are absolutely brilliant."

In this, her moment of triumph, Hermione beamed and said, "I am, aren't I?"

"Beyond doubt."

Hermione nodded, her ego satisfied for the moment. Of course, she now had to put her new wand through its paces.

"Harry, remember what I said earlier?"

Harry cocked his head to the side. A lot had been said, after all.

Rather than answer directly, Hermione raised her wand and flicked her wrist back and forth with the kind of rapid, precise movements she was determined to drill into Harry if it killed her.

"Rictusempra."

Harry saw it coming only too late. By the time he moved to dodge, the silver spellbolt had already found its mark. Fortunately for him, he already had his wand in hand and managed to cast a finite before he became any more than mildly uncomfortable.

"Of course you realise," Harry began, completely serious, "this means war."

Hermione smirked and cast another spell. Harry ducked for cover just where she thought he would, but he managed to conjure a hasty protego which broke under the impact to save himself. She next aimed between the legs of the desk he hid behind, hoping to hit his feet, but the spell fell short, and Harry was on the move again before there was time to try a second.

Moving with a speed that had to ruin his aim, Harry jumped out from behind a desk, making such a racket that she missed the spell he cast. More surprising was that the wand movements accompanying it were not ones she was familiar with.

Still, the spell flew wildly off course, not even coming close to Hermione. She smirked as she advanced forward, levitating desks and chairs out of her way and turning them upside down so as to be worthless as cover. All along her steady advance, Hermione dodged the occasional wild spell Harry flung her way, slowly backing him into a corner where there would be nowhere left to hide.

"Protego!" Hermione shouted in alarm, only barely catching the tickling charm Harry sent at her from the ground. _Stealing tricks from me, eh?_ In retaliation, she sent her wand out in a wide arc, a volley of bluebell flames flying forward and cutting off Harry's retreat.

"I remember that spell," Harry said tauntingly. "I can hold it in my hand, can't I?"

Hermione frowned but otherwise only answered his question with a rictusempra to the face. He dodged, but it was the thought that counted.

Preparing one last levitation charm to eliminate Harry's cover and force him into the open, Hermione said, "Wingardi – eek!" She spat out the horrible taste in her mouth, only for more of it to enter. Opening her eyes just made it worse. "What is – sawdust!"

"Learnt the hover charm after Dobby used it on me," Harry said calmly. "Rictum–"

Hermione's rowan wand flashed and her tongue danced as she rapidly fired off three spells in order of importance. "Scourgify! Protego! Rictum–"

"–sempra!" Harry and Hermione finished together.

With all her luck at work, Hermione's wand was actually aimed in the right direction. The silver lights met not far from where she stood, and then her ears stung with the sound of a dozen lightning bolts striking a metre from her head. The noise repeated itself as twin silver arcs of what could themselves pass as lightning bolted forth from their spells back into the tips of their wands.

 _What is this? No don't come closer! Go away!_ And to her surprise, the eye-searingly bright ball of light connecting Hermione's wand to Harry's actually moved away from her, if only to get closer to him.

"Hermione! What's happening!" Harry shouted, just as terrified as her.

The light moved back toward Hermione as she searched her mind for the answer – _any_ answer. She panicked, dropping the half-formed ideas from her mind and focusing all her thoughts on how much she really did not want whatever that was to reach her wand.

"I don't know!" Hermione managed to find the time to say, accepting the small push toward her wand and who knew what consequences her lack of focus allowed.

The light moved away again as Harry said, "Dodge right on three."

Hermione nodded and hoped Harry could see her through the–

 _Oh Merlin, what's happening!_ Hermione thought as an ethereal dome formed around them.

"One!" Harry called out, although it almost sounded like a question, no doubt wondering if it was even safe to move anymore. Not that Hermione had a clue. "Two! Three!"

Hermione jumped to the her right, careful to move so that her wand would be pointing away from her and Harry. She felt her wand resist the movement, but she yanked it away. Across the room, Harry mirrored her actions to his left. The connection – for lack of a better word – between their wands broke, and the ball of burning, silver light sailed past her dangerously close to her shoulder.

And just like that, the world returned to normal – normal and thankfully silent and dim.

Harry looked to Hermione. Hermione, still just as terrified, could only return the look.

"What the bloody hell was that!" Harry asked.

"I – I don't – I don't know," Hermione eventually managed. Even now that her mind was free to think without other demands on its resources, it still came up empty. "I…" The only thing Hermione _could_ think of to say was, "No duelling over the summer, Harry."

"No duelling! Are you sure we should doing _anything_ with these things?"

"No," Hermione admitted. "But that…thing _can't_ be my fault! Wand failures don't look like that. That's beyond failure! Beyond critical failure! I – I don't even know what to call that."

Hesitantly, Harry said, "Do we ask Ollivander?"

"No!" Hermione said immediately and emphatically. "How would we explain it?"

"Urgh, you're right. The library, then?"

Hermione's thoughts tripped over themselves for a moment at Harry suggesting research all on his own. It was a good sign, she decided.

"I guess. But I've never even heard… I don't know where we'd start. There's barely any information in the library about wandlore, not even in the restricted section."

"So we're out of options."

"No. No, we'll still look, but I doubt we'll find anything anytime soon."

Harry and Hermione fell silent again. For her own part, Hermione was just glad that she was still alive and undamaged. _At least so far as I can tell…_

"Well," Harry began, still somewhat in shock judging by the lack of a joking tone, "I guess that's an important safety tip you forgot to mention, like not taking our wands into the arctic or a desert."

Her mind rebooting, Hermione picked up on the obvious joke. "Yes, don't cross the streams. It could be bad."

Harry looked at her confused.

"You haven't seen _Ghostbusters_ , have you?"

"Hermione, I've seen parts of a few cartoons and clips of things on the telly. That's it."

"Fair." After a second to think about it, Hermione added, "I have another summer project for us."

* * *

"Yes, Ms. Pince, I know Professor Lockhart is at St. Mungo's. He's still a Hogwarts professor, though. This is the same pass that I showed you first term."

Ms. Pince looked very much like she wanted to object but, just as before, was bound by the rules and allowed Hermione access to the restricted section. Granted, Harry had proven last year that anyone could sneak in after hours easily enough, but this was easier still.

"Thank you, Ms. Pince," Hermione said before finding her way into the restricted section. Once there she made a beeline to where she knew her first target would be.

"Moste… Potente… Potions…" She dragged the words out just as she dragged a finger along the spines of the nearby books until it landed on her goal. "Aha!"

Hermione set her bookbag down next to her and pulled down _Moste Potente Potions_. Taking a seat at the table placed up against the shelves, she opened the book to the index. Her eyes immediately jumped to the end of the alphabet, moving upward until they reached the v's.

 _Vo – vi – ve – ver – veritaserum. Page one-thousand-ninety-two._ Hermione's well-practised hands flipped to twenty pages before the page she wanted. Then with one more flip, she began reading.

 _Where's the list of ingredients… Ah, there it is. Ground birch bark, easy enough. Diced… Diced sphinx tongue! Sphinxes are sentient!_

Hermione briefly considered dropping the project here and now, but there was the rather reasonable alternative of buying the tongue of a sphinx that had died of natural causes.

 _Actually, now that I think about it instead of…well, flipping out, the tongues are pretty big. Maybe there's not more demand than is naturally provided. Humans are known to leave their bodies to science when they die. Maybe this is the same thing._

Hermione shook her head, resolving to ask whoever she bought her ingredients from when it actually mattered. Looking over the rest, the remaining ingredients were not at all monstrous in nature, and excepting the eye of a satori – whatever that was – they were easy enough to find.

 _The brewing time is a bit of an issue, though. Harry isn't exactly known for his patience. It needs to boil for a full lunar cycle and has to start under a new moon. That would be…the twentieth, so the earliest I could let him go to Azkaban is July nineteenth._

Hermione let out a sigh. She would have a word with Susan to see if her aunt could work some bureaucratic red tape magic in the DMLE. Or better yet, maybe she could just keep Harry busy with the patronus charm for a while. Professor Flitwick had mentioned that it was difficult to learn.

 _I wonder if Harry would just wait for the veritaserum if I asked him to. He's still the same headstrong, impulsive boy he's always been, but he_ is _listening to me right now. Maybe…_

At any rate, Hermione pulled out quill and parchment and made a copy of the instructions. If she were to guess, veritaserum was probably fifth or sixth year level potions material, but that was no obstacle.

 _If I can brew polyjuice in a bathroom, I can brew this, too. Though the DMLE probably regulates it. I bet polyjuice is illegal, too, now that I think about it. Hmm… I should probably spend more time around Susan. I need a good influence in my life._

 _Anyway, I'll need to be careful who I get the ingredients from. Professor Snape cast more wards on his storeroom after I snuck in first term, so I can't get them from the school. Besides, this isn't school related this time, so it wouldn't be right._

Hermione felt a sinking sensation as she came to realise there was only one way she knew of to get the rarer ingredients she needed without attracting unwanted attention. Leaning back in her chair, Hermione let her head roll back to stare at the ceiling.

"I'm going to have to ask Daphne for a favour, won't I? Wonderful."

There were worse fates than owing Daphne Greengrass a favour. She would ask for something she _actually_ believed was of equal value in return. It could be Draco Malfoy instead. _That_ would be awful.

Shaking her head at the thought – really, how on Earth would she ever get into Malfoy's debt? – Hermione closed _Moste Potente Potions_. She tucked away the recipe for veritaserum in her bookbag and then put away the text.

With the easy part of her visit over with, Hermione now had to figure out exactly where Ms. Pince kept the books covering legilimency. In the unrestricted section, occlumency texts were numerous and plentiful, all of which were located in the defence section with the other mostly obscure 'miscellaneous' spells. That seemed as good a place to start in the restricted section as any.

While she searched, Hermione kept in mind to pull down any books on wandlore she missed the last time she'd been here, but she was not optimistic that any such books existed.

Hermione wandered through the restricted section, her eyes running over hundreds of titles until she found books that matched her primary query. Her gaze passed over such wondrous – if somewhat questionable – texts as _Slaying Dragons_ , _Book of Spells_ , and, of course, _Magick Moste Evile_ , because _obviously_ such a book should be available to schoolchildren.

 _Magical Britain at its finest,_ Hermione thought, shaking her head in disapproval. Even so, a part of her thought it'd be a good idea to read it to know exactly what she and Harry were going to come up against in the future. She had, after all, given a lecture almost exactly to that effect to Harry not too long ago.

For the moment, at least, _Magick Moste Age-Inappropriate_ went untouched. Hermione was already short on time; adding a reading project now would be impossible.

"Ah!" Hermione's eyes fell on a tiny slip of a book with a spine so thin she could barely read, _Secrets of the Mind_.

 _Well_ , Hermione thought, _if that's not a book on legilimency, I don't know what would be. It's awfully thin, though. Maybe only thirty pages…_ She pulled the book down. If it covered legilimency and _only_ legilimency, it _might_ be big enough to be what she was looking for.

Opening to the first page – there was no table of contents – Hermione began reading. Then she paused, blinking, and started over again, translating as best as she could. Middle English was disgusting.

 _Those of you with the undisciplined mind should immediately return this tome to wheresoever you found it._ Hermione frowned at the oddly confrontational passage but kept reading. _Those of you who have not first passed the lesser trial of occlumency should immediately return this tome to wheresoever you found it, for legilimency is a…_ Unable to translate the next few words, Hermione substituted in 'double-edged sword' from the context. _Entering another's mind opens your own to retaliation, for the accomplished occlumens will twist your own probe onto itself._

Hermione snapped _Secrets of the Mind_ shut. It was probably not that pleasant of a read, but it was already obvious that its focus was exactly and exclusively what she was looking for. Admittedly, the fact that the book was short was also appealing, since she intended to copy the whole thing by hand.

 _Five or so minutes per page and thirty pages comes out to be two to three hours. Two to three hours of hand cramps, sure, but that's not so bad. I was willing to subject myself to much longer._

Hermione cleared off a nearby desk of stray, unshelved books, pulled out quill, ink, and a large stack of parchment, and then set to work.

* * *

"Check."

Harry looked up from the frustratingly vague occlumency textbook Hermione had given him. The most basic occlumency technique was 'clearing one's mind – making it blank and empty'. So far as he could tell, the rest of the chapter was just a bunch of meditation suggestions, none of which he seemed to be particularly good at.

"There goes my queen," Harry muttered underneath his breath. One of these days he would win a game, but it appeared today was not that day. He moved his queen to block Ron's bishop. "Your move."

Ron stopped his frantic scribbling on his potions homework to smirk at the board, quickly taking Harry's queen and returning to his work.

 _There's something to be said for Hermione forcing me to get my homework done early. It's kind of freeing._

As if summoned at the mere thought of her name, Hermione appeared at the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room, her usual bulging bookbag at her side. Although she was strangely flexing her right hand, she had an unusually satisfied smile on her face.

"What gotten into you?" Harry asked as Hermione approached.

"Not much," Hermione replied, collapsing onto the other side of the couch. "Just finished a small project for summer quicker than I thought."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Ron shaking his head in disapproval, muttering something to himself, probably something to the effect of 'summer is not for studying'. With the distraction, Harry remembered to make his next move to take Ron's bishop.

"How's the reading going?"

Harry shrugged in answer.

"Come to think of it, what _are_ you reading?" Ron asked, looking up from his homework. "That's not any of our textbooks."

For the briefest of moments, Harry looked to Hermione for direction. Their summer plans were all wrapped up in her still hilariously criminal actions, and he was perfectly happy to leave it to her to decide who knew what. They exchanged a silent signal, and Harry had his answer.

"Hermione gave me a book on occlumency."

"Why?" Ron asked with a strangely confused expression, not the usual one he got when Hermione mentioned something she'd studied for fun. "Practically no one is a legilimens."

In some part of his mind, Harry thought he owed Hermione an apology for the last two years. Only now after she'd explicitly pointed it out to him did he actually notice it. People raised in the magical world knew _a lot_ just from having grown up in the culture, and practically everyone assumed he knew it all, too. It was, in a word, eye-opening.

"Because I have a pissed off" – Hermione nudged him, but he let his entirely accurate words stand – "crazy wizard with wounded pride who's probably a master legilimens after me, and I'd rather not have him in my head when I next run into him if I can help it."

A shiver ran through Ron. "Right. Have at it, then, Mate. By the way, check."

Harry bit back the urge to curse, knowing that would just earn him a scolding from Hermione. But neither of them were paying that much attention to the game. How in Merlin's name did Ron manage to get this good this young?

The two of them played through the brief remaining portion of the game, Harry's moves becoming increasingly longer and Ron's shorter as Harry found himself backed into a corner. Then finally, it happened.

"Checkmate."

Harry groaned and leaned back into his seat. Another loss, and that brought the score up to zero to some absurdly large number plus one.

"Another game?" Ron asked.

"Sure," Harry replied, and the pieces went about repairing and resetting themselves.

"Harry," Hermione interrupted. "It's nearly time to meet Professor Flitwick. Unless you think you can finish that game in five minutes?"

"I could _lose_ that quickly for sure," Harry said, chuckling. "But fair enough."

Obviously curious, Ron asked, "Did you get a detention recently?"

"That _would_ be a good guess," Hermione said, earning a glare from Harry.

"No," Harry said before Ron could start laughing. "Hermione has this strange obsession with keeping me alive. She won't let me go to Azkaban without learning how to protect myself from dementors first. Absolutely mad, that."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes shut. Meanwhile, Ron broke out of the stupor Harry had put him into.

"Wait, what? Back up. You're going to – bloody hell, Harry!"

"Language, Ron."

Ron continued uninterrupted as if Hermione had never said a word. "Why are you going to Azkaban?"

"It's…"

Talking about this with Hermione was one thing. She always had some insight to offer, as she typically had a terribly different perspective on things. Even on the rare occasion when she had no advice to give, there was always an underlying sense of support present. But with Ron – well, there was just something awkward about emotional conversations with other boys. Harry could barely imagine repeating half the things he'd said in private to Hermione in front of Ron.

Luckily, seeing Harry struggle for the right words, Hermione came to his rescue as always.

"Lady Bones has a lea – well, not a lead, since we all know Lord Malfoy and Quirrelmort were behind it, but she thinks Harry in particular might be able to get her some information relevant to what happened this year that could lead to an arrest."

"Yeah…" Harry said, recognising that Hermione had not _quite_ lied. Lady Bones almost certainly _did_ think that. "I don't really know what I can do; the headmaster knows pretty much everything relevant already. But I'll help however she needs."

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but Hermione is right, Harry. Azkaban is… Just make sure you can cast the patronus in front of a dementor before they let you go anywhere alone there. Bloody terrifying things they are."

"You're welcome to join us, if you want," Harry offered.

Ron shook his head and rapped his knuckles against his homework. "I need to get this done. Besides, I don't plan to get within a hundred leagues of the things ever again. Dad took me to the ministry once, and there was a dementor on the other side of a wall. We only passed by for a few seconds, but man. They give you this right nasty, cold feeling deep inside."

"It's not about what you plan for, Ron," Hermione argued. "It's about what you're _ready_ for. It's not like a dementor will just come up to you, tap you on the shoulder, and ask, 'Do you know the patronus charm? No? Oh, well, I'll just come back later, then.' The whole point of defence class is to learn to be prepared for those kinds of surprise situations."

Harry was well-versed in the Granger–Weasley relationship dynamic. Having seen enough of Ron's and Hermione's rows to tell when one was about to start, put himself between the two and said, "Maybe next time, then, Ron. Hermione, we should get going before we're late."

Hermione held her mouth open for a few seconds as if to keep arguing. She _was_ right, even if she'd needed to clobber Harry with facts and his own failings to get him to accept it. But she let the matter drop there. She picked herself up and pulled her bookbag onto her shoulder in one neat motion. "Sure."

"Later," Harry said to Ron, getting a farewell in return. With Hermione in tow, he exited Gryffindor Tower through the Fat Lady's portrait.

"You do know I haven't actually talked to Susan yet, right?"

Hermione replied without missing a beat. "I know. I'm still glad you haven't, but you should really get on that. There's barely a week left before term's end."

"Yes, yes. I'll get on it. Which reminds me, I saw that girl she hangs out with… Er, Hannah something…"

"Hannah Abbott?"

"Yeah, that's it. I saw her stand on the third floor's disappearing-step today after lunch."

Hermione hummed, sounding perhaps a bit irritated. "I'll add her to the list, but I don't know much about her."

"I think she organises the second-year Hufflepuff study group, and I don't think I've ever seen her or Susan without the other. Pretty sure she's not a pureblood or from a noble family. Oh, and she was nice enough to me for a while after the whole parselmouth thing until MacMillan got to her."

"I hardly think that matters. Susan and Ron never doubted you, after all, and they jump the steps. But I'll make a note of it anyway, I guess. With Abbott, that brings us up to six confirmed subjects: her, me, first year Luna Lovegood, Emily Johnson–"

"Who?"

"The seventh year Hufflepuff prefect. She caught us out after curfew last year."

"Oh, right. Her."

Hermione chuckled a bit to herself. "Don't be mad, Harry. She was just doing her job, and she was nice enough about it." Harry refused to dignify that with a reply, so Hermione continued, "Then after her, there's Anthony Goldstein and…"

"Snape," Harry grumbled.

"Professor Snape, but yes, although admittedly with the way his robes flow around him, he could just have a spell on his shoes. We'd never know the difference."

"Maybe. Do you think it's just students with good grades? I wouldn't be surprised if he'd had them."

Hermione shook her head. "No, I saw Daphne trip, and Padma jumps the stairs, too. Besides, how would the stair know?"

Harry thought about that for a moment, but only for a moment, as a ridiculous idea popped into his head.

"I bet–" Harry said at the same time Hermione said, "What if–" They turned to each other, and Harry gave her a nod.

"Okay, what if – and this is just an idea, mind – but what if it's just something Headmaster Dumbledore does for…fun or something?"

"That's exactly what I was going to say. It wouldn't surprise me at all after that nitwit-bluster speech of his first year."

"It was nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak."

It really was a marvel how Hermione could remember the obscurest of things. _Wish I had a memory like that._

"They make a certain sort of sense," Hermione continued, "if you think of them as not Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor, not Slytherin, and not Hufflepuff, although the last one is a bit of a stretch."

As Harry took Hermione's words in, the only thought he came up with in response was, _Huh_.

"But…I agree." As they approached the door to the charms classroom, Hermione quietly added, "That kind of takes all the fun and mystery out of it, though. I'd hate it if that actually turned out to be the answer."

"Do you really think he would, though? A lot of students get hurt on them."

Hermione knocked on the charms door. "No, probably not. Except for that, though, it _does_ seem entirely in character for him to create a Hogwarts myth for fun."

The door swung open, and an excited voice called out, "Come in! Come in!"

Harry and Hermione did just that. Entering the classroom, they soon found Professor Flitwick sitting on the edge of his desk in the centre of the room and visibly filled with his usual energy and enthusiasm. His wand was already in his hand, and a good deal of the classroom had been rearranged to create more space.

"Good evening, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter. How has the weekend been treating you?"

"Very well, Professor. Thank you for asking," Hermione replied with the ease of someone in well-known company.

In contrast, Harry simply said, "Alright."

"Good. Good. Now Miss Granger here tells me you two want to learn the patronus charm. Is this correct?"

Harry nodded, seeing as that question was mostly directed at him.

"Excellent! Miss Granger I expected to be pursuing such advanced material, but I'm very worried to see you here, too, Mr. Potter. I already have one of my ravens lost to McGonagall; it would break my heart to find I've lost another."

"Er…"

Hermione nudged Harry, whispering, "It's a compliment. Just take it."

"Right…" Harry mumbled to himself. "I don't think I'll be breaking anyone's heart tonight, Professor, but thank you."

"Such a shame. Ah, well, that's life, I suppose. Now then, the patronus charm is for chasing off one of the darkest of all creatures, the dementor. That, of course, I'm sure you already know, or why else would you have asked for it? I do trust that you realise a patronus _cannot_ kill a dementor, yes?"

Harry nodded while Hermione said, "Yes."

"Good. Dementors naturally diminish, although we do not know if they die or simply go elsewhere. I personally rather hope it's the former. Similarly, they are known to occasionally increase in number, but most people prefer not to think about how that could possibly happen."

Professor Flitwick chuckled at his own joke, and Hermione tried to play along, but her heart was clearly not in it. _Sometime before I go to Azkaban_ , Harry thought, _I should look up what dementors actually look like. But for now, I think I will do perfectly well without whatever mental imagery Professor Flitwick just inflicted on Hermione._

"Now the wand work for the patronus charm is a little complicated, certainly not something we ordinarily give to thirteen year olds." Professor Flitwick paused, considering something. "No, I believe I must amend that statement. More and more these days, I see muggleborn and muggle-raised students coming in with exceptional hand-eye coordination."

Harry and Hermione looked to each other, both somehow knowing they were thinking of the same explanation. "Videogames," they chorused.

"Video what now?"

Harry left the explanation up to Hermione, who may have actually had a chance to play one.

"They're… Imagine wizard's chess, but played in real time in a portrait, and the pieces are controlled by a device you operate with your hands. Videogames have been around for nearly two decades now, but they've really only become widespread in the last five years or so."

"Hmm… That _does_ sound about right, although I admit muggleborn and muggle-raised in general have always seemed to do well with wandwork. And here I thought the muggle world simply became more interested in teaching their children to play music. Ah, well, five points to Gryffindor, you two, for giving me the solution to an interesting puzzle."

Hermione beamed the way she only did when being praised.

"Getting back on track, then, the wand movement for the patronus charm is an inward spiral, making no more than a single wind. It's very important that you perform the movement _exactly_ in that fashion. If you underwind, your patronus won't form. If you overwind, it will collapse into itself. If you create a circle, you will at best get a shield able to keep a dementor at bay, but one which will not drive them away. Worst of all, if you create an outward spiral, your patronus will explode outward and _attract_ dementors toward the sudden emotional spike. Might I see you two try it now? Miss Granger first."

Naturally, Hermione did well. What else could anyone expect? On her first try, Professor Flitwick made a minor suggestion to tighten her spiral to a smaller diameter, but her second he declared as perfect as perfect could be.

"Now you, Mr. Potter."

Harry held out his wand, forcibly loosening his grip. Hermione was always a hard act to follow.

"Not quite. Take it slower for the moment."

"Better, but your spiral was too oblong. You might actually want to strengthen your grip for this spell to remove any niggling wiggles."

"Let's pull your arm completely straight. That should help you keep it level. Yes, good. Much better."

After more than a dozen tries, Professor Flitwick finally pronounced Harry's wandwork up to snuff.

"Excellent. Excellent. You'll both want to practice the movements extensively. This is not a spell you want to make an error on or to let lapse from your memory. Now the words are simple. Repeat after me. Expecto Patronum."

Harry and Hermione both did, easily passing inspection.

"Perfect. Now comes the difficult part. The patronus charm takes a fair amount of magic, true. As upcoming third years, you'll likely not want to cast this spell more than a few times per day. Not that I hope you ever need to cast it at all!

"But no, it's not the magic requirements that make this spell so difficult. It's the prerequisite feelings. You see, the patronus is a spell of passion. Like the killing curse requires darker emotions, to cast the patronus, your need to put all of your happiness into the spell.

"For most people, it helps to have a particular happy memory in mind. It can be something that puts butterflies into your stomach, or it could be a loving moment with your family. Whatever you choose, it must be unyielding! It must be something with which to burn away the darkness! Something which says, 'I love living!' Understood?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry said in time with Hermione's own nod and thoughtful frown.

"Then go ahead and try once you've chosen a memory."

With the phrase 'I love living' firmly in his mind, there was one particular memory that leapt to the front of Harry's thoughts. His first time flying a broom was such a rush. The world of magic was still brand new and mysterious. Flying about with the wind in his face and his feet off the ground with the kind of freedom he'd never had growing up under the Dursleys' thumb was an experience unlike any other.

Harry held that feeling of giddy freedom in his chest, his eyes closed as he embraced the memory to its fullest. He twirled his wand about in a spiral, shouting, "Expecto Patronum!" But as he spoke the words, it felt wrong, somehow, and he knew the spell would fizzle.

"Hmm… What memory did you use?" Professor Flitwick asked.

Harry opened his eyes. His failure confirmed, the remnants of that earlier light, happy feeling spreading throughout him vanished completely. Glancing at a very interested looking Hermione, Harry said, "I was thinking about how free and wonderful riding a broom for the first time was."

"Hmm… That _could_ work, but you'd really have to work at it, I suspect. Perhaps I was misleading. It doesn't have to be a memory that gets your blood racing. It should be a more softly burning happiness, a quiet moment of peace even."

Hermione let out a small gasp, sudden inspiration no doubt hitting her.

"But you were certainly headed in the right direction. Don't worry about that!" Turning to Hermione, Professor Flitwick asked, "I take it you have a memory, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded, a small smile creeping its way onto her face.

"Well go on, then. Give it a go."

Not needing to be told twice, Hermione brandished her wand and said, "Expecto patronum."

Nothing happened.

"Expecto patronum," Hermione tried again. Her face looked almost heartbroken at her failure.

"Ah, well, don't take it too personally, Miss Granger. It's many a Ravenclaw's and Slytherin's fate to never cast the patronus. Far too much thinking in our heads; not enough feeling in our chests. I must admit I've never managed a fully corporeal patronus myself."

That clearly failed to comfort Hermione, but she managed to force a small smile back onto her face.

"What memory did you use, if I may ask?"

"It's…" Hermione's eyes flicked in Harry's direction, something both Harry and Professor Flitwick picked up on.

"I'll just step outside," Harry said, already in motion. He saw Hermione mouth an apology to him as he made his way to the door.

* * *

 _*click*_

With the door shut and privacy charms cast, Professor Flitwick turned to Hermione, whose eyes instantly dropped to her feet. She shuffled about awkwardly as he spoke.

"You certainly don't have to say anything you're uncomfortable with, Miss Granger, but my assistance is here if you'll have it."

"I… There was…"

Hermione fingers fidgeted with her wand, passing it back and forth from hand to hand. This was not something to be revealed lightly. But Professor Flitwick had been so helpful and friendly ever since she came to Hogwarts. The headmaster and Professor McGonagall were a little distant and – if Hermione were being honest – far too intimidating. Professor Flitwick was the exact opposite: warm, bubbly, and approachable.

Sucking up her Gryffindor courage, Hermione gulped. "I've never told anyone this, but I'm pretty sure Professors McGonagall and Snape and Headmaster Dumbledore know. And" – Hermione's voice descended to a mumble – "You-Know-Who."

A frigid silence fell over the room, and suddenly the excitable Professor Flitwick vanished for the serious and sharp-eyed duelling champion he was.

"Miss Granger, anyone with a brain knows what happened last year in the third-floor corridor, but if you'll excuse the derision, perhaps twenty people at Hogwarts are aware, most of them Ravenclaws. It's not wise to speak of things that are being kept quiet. More than one Ravenclaw has met an unfortunate fate in such a way."

Hermione shook her head rapidly back and forth. "It's not that. Do you remember the troll attack in my first year?"

"Ah, I see now. Yes, McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell were the ones who first arrived at the scene." A very ashen faced Professor Flitwick paused. "Oh. Oh dear. I never thought – Miss Granger, I must admit I'm surprised. I'd have thought you could outsmart a troll even in your nappies."

Hermione's head fell down in shame. She must have replayed that encounter in her head over a hundred times counting all of the things she did wrong and figuring out what she _could_ have done to save herself if she were not such an idiot or such a coward.

"Miss Granger, it's hardly anything to be ashamed of. Twelve-year-old witches, muggleborn especially, are not _supposed_ to be able to face down a mountain troll alone."

Hermione kept herself from mentioning that no one had been surprised that a barely eleven-year-old, muggle-raised _Harry_ _Potter_ had taken on the troll and won, plus or minus a little assistance.

With a silent flick of his wand, Hermione found a chair behind her. Professor Flitwick himself choose to sit on a large stack of books to bring himself up to eye level.

"A life debt at your age, and to two younger boys, too."

" _No_ ," Hermione interrupted, unconsciously stomping her foot. "I owe a life debt to Harry. _Only_ Harry. Ron was the reason I was there to begin with, and he only acted because I'd dropped my wand and told him to. I'm reminded of that every waking hour of each and every day."

"And yet you're friends with him." It was not quite a question, more an observation.

"I guess," Hermione replied, her flaring temper cooling. Ron _had_ at least had the decency to listen and act. "He's…alright. He's more Harry's friend than mine, though. He has his moments, but they don't make up for the insults and the constant arguing."

"A wise perspective." Without warning, a pair of cups and saucers appeared in Professor Flitwick's hands. "Tea?"

Surprised, but not opposed, Hermione took the cup offered to her.

"Unfortunately, I must tell you the last young lady like you I had the pleasure of teaching eventually wound up with the opposite opinion, although no life debts were involved. I still have somewhat mixed feelings regarding her marriage despite personally having enjoyed the young man's company. But to be fair, her husband did undergo a great deal of growing up to woo her."

Hermione set her cup back on the saucer resting on the armrest of her chair, savouring the taste of a rich cream tea with perhaps a hint too much sugar for her tastes.

"Who was she?" Hermione asked. She was hesitant to call this woman a _bad_ example to learn from, but it might be worth looking into her a bit all the same.

Professor Flitwick waited until Hermione was mid sip before replying, "Lily Evans." He chuckled before asking, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Hermione croaked out, fighting to make the tea in her throat go down the right tube. It was tempting fate terribly, but a little more tea would help things along.

"You know, if I _had_ to pick one of the three of them, I'd say her son has grown up most like the other young man who attempted to win her hand. Well, during his childhood years at least. I doubt Mr. Potter will grow up to be as bitter considering the company he keeps."

"I – I see." Hermione was almost afraid to ask. "Who…"

"Her best friend Severus Snape."

Hermione felt herself choking on air.

"Nigh on inseparable those two were. They had a falling out before graduating, and their friendship never recovered to what it once was."

"But… But…" There were too many competing objections. "Why is Professor Snape so…"

"Abusive to Mr. Potter? Intolerable? We know what the man has grown up to be like, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, Dumbledore's hands are tied as far as his contract goes; there's politics at play." Professor Flitwick said the world 'politics' with the kind of disdain that made Hermione think Harry would get along with the man fabulously if he only would come out of his shell.

 _Oh, Merlin,_ Hermione thought, just realising a terrible truth. _Look at me. I'm_ gossipping _! With a professor no less!_ "Professor, has anyone ever told you you're entirely too easy to talk to?"

Professor Flitwick grinned, which was slightly unnerving this close up; his goblin heritage showed in the slight points on his teeth. "Someone on the staff has to be."

"Heh. Of course."

"Ah, but I think we've kept your own friend waiting long enough."

Hermione fought hard to keep a blush off her face as she realised that Professor Flitwick had been subtly suggesting that _she herself_ was in the same situation as Lily Potter. _Why is it that I have to deny that there's anything between me and Harry to both the students_ and _the professors?_

"Now then, if I might offer some advice to you, I suspect Miss Ginevra Weasley also owes Mr. Potter a life debt. You might want to seek her out to talk."

Hermione shook her head. "She doesn't; I all but asked her outright. She didn't meet the conditions for a life debt. I think Headmaster Dumbledore _would_ have arrived by phoenix fire with the chamber opened if Fawkes hadn't already gone to save Harry, so Harry didn't save her from _certain_ death."

"Ah. Well, I suspect that's for the best. Miss Weasley is going to have a hard enough time as it is with what happened to her. Having a life debt on top of that poking at her thoughts and emotions would be too much. Now what was that memory you were using, if you don't mind?"

"I… Recently I had long conversation with Harry. In short, we ended up waking up to a wonderful day, and my life debt hasn't been bothering me as often ever since. It still flares up from time to time, but when I woke up and realised it was quiet, and that Harry…" Hermione shook her head. Professor Flitwick did not need to know about her fears of burying her best friend. "That morning, I felt so…content, happy. I don't really know how to phrase it."

Professor Flitwick nodded along with Hermione's story. Only after she found herself faltering for words, he said, "I can only imagine how strong those feelings must be, especially with whatever it is you've omitted. But I don't think they're right for a patronus. They're too passive, I believe. Relaxed might be a better word. Yes, I think that's exactly it! Relaxed it is. You'll want something with a bit more kick to it."

"Kick?"

"Yes, more something that makes you want to leap to your feet or to act without thinking. Hmm, maybe… You don't have to answer who, but do you perhaps have a crush?"

" _Had_." Hermione made sure there would be no room for doubt with her tone of voice. "I've _had_ two, one because I was too much of a fool to see what Harry picked up on in an instant."

"Yes, well, let's work with the other one, then. I've often found that new patronus users tend to do well with memories of lovers. Although they do tend to be a few years older than you. Still, let's give it a try! Do you think you could dredge up old feelings?"

Could Hermione summon up her old feelings for Harry? Yes, it would be easy enough. What girl would _not_ be at least a little infatuated with a boy who wrestled a troll three times his height and a hundred times his weight right in front of her eyes to _literally_ save her certain doom? Even other boys might swoon at that!

But those feelings were from before she actually _knew_ him, and Hermione suspected the life debt had egged them on. No, best friends would do just fine. Plus she would rather not have those thoughts floating around in her head for Harry to rummage through.

 _And in the chance that Harry grows up into someone properly fanciable, I'd rather not have the baggage. If we fall in love, we fall in love. I won't dredge up feelings for someone that never really existed to begin with._

So resolved, Hermione shook her head. "It's done, and I'd like to keep it that way, Professor."

"No worries. No worries. We'll just have to think of something else, then. Meanwhile" – Professor Flitwick waved his wand toward the door – "please come in, Mr. Potter."

Panicked, Hermione thrust her wand toward the door and locked it. Turning back toward Professor Flitwick, she pled, "Please don't tell Harry about" – she realised then that the privacy spells were lifted and lowered her voice – "the debt. He blames himself for everything, and he'll think I'm being forced to be his friend. _Please_."

"You have my word, of course, but as you keep Mr. Potter's company, I should warn you. In the future, swear someone to secrecy _before_ you tell them the secret."

Hermione flushed, embarrassed. Of course you swore someone to secrecy first. That was such basic Slytherin that everyone knew it.

"Now with your permission…"

Hermione nodded, and soon the door creaked open to reveal a frowning Harry. Hermione was about to apologise for kicking him out again and then locking the door in his face when he said, "Professor? I think I'm doing something wrong."

"Oh? Have you gotten the charm partially to work for you!"

Harry shrugged and proceeded to demonstrate. "Expecto patronum." At the words, a dim, silver light erupted from his wand to form a shield in front of him, not entirely unlike a more opaque protego.

 _Well, there goes that plan. I'll need to find another way to stall Harry from going to meet Black for a month._

"Marvellous!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed. "Simply extraordinary! Twenty points to Gryffindor. And you said you wouldn't be breaking my heart tonight."

Hermione chuckled at Harry's expense as his face warped through confusion to embarrassment.

"Are you feeling drained at all from the practice? Magically or emotionally?"

"Er… No, I don't think so," Harry replied.

"Wonderful! What memory did you use?"

Harry hesitated for a few seconds. "I…didn't exactly use a memory. Not at first."

"Nothing to worry about that, Mr. Potter. The memory is a crutch intended to get you in the right mood. Would you be willing to elaborate for Miss Granger?"

"The first thing that worked was thinking about…" – Harry gave Hermione a look that said he fully expected a scolding – "what I saw in the Mirror of Erised."

 _Oh, yes. There is definitely a scolding coming Harry's way._ Hermione sent him a glare that she hoped meant they would discuss it later.

Harry cringed, but he continued on. "Once I got the feeling down, I tried other memories. But I can't get anything more than this mist."

"An incorporeal shield is more than impressive enough for your first night of practice," Professor Flitwick said. "As I said before, I've never even managed better. It takes a bit more unyielding passion than I think I have in me. For now, why don't you help Miss Granger and maybe bounce ideas off each other. I suspect you may be more qualified to teach this than I am!" Professor Flitwick's laughter at that was high-pitched, yet hearty.

Harry fidgeted bashfully, no doubt still unused to positive reinforcement from adults. He eventually managed to say, "Okay," before turning to Hermione. "I know I'm not supposed to think about it or go looking for it, and you can scold me later, but the mirror really would explain better than I ever could."

Which was cheating in Hermione's book. _But is anything really cheating with extracurricular activities? My only goal is to learn the charm. I…guess pragmatism is more important when it comes to application._ "I'm still scolding you later," Hermione said to make sure Harry never got the idea that he was off the hook. "But just this once. If that would be okay, Professor?"

"Certainly. There's no harm from a single viewing of the Mirror of Erised. Wait here, and I'll be back in a snap." Professor Flitwick punctuated his words with a snap of his fingers and was out the door before Harry or Hermione could say anything.

* * *

Harry kept his eyes firmly fixed on Hermione's reaction, not letting them so much as stray to the mirror. Such were Hermione's terms for letting him be present when Professor Flitwick returned to the charms classroom with the Mirror of Erised.

But it was oh so tempting. It was all an illusion, but such a convincing, ensnaring illusion.

Suddenly, without the slightest warning, Hermione stirred from her frozen staring. She casually turned away from the mirror as if she'd seen nothing more than her own reflection.

"Thank you for your time tonight, Professor," Hermione said, turning to him to bow. Professor Flitwick returned the gesture, which Harry suspected was a goblin cultural thing.

Harry made his own bow and offered his thanks. Mid-bow, Hermione swept past him and out of the classroom. "Hermione?"

The usually organised, 'all things in their place' Hermione was already gone, not even bothering to close the door behind her.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said again, dashing out after Hermione. Luckily, she was headed along the shortest route to Gryffindor Tower, so he managed to not only catch up to her fast pace but actually found her as well. "Hermione, what did you see?"

"Not now, Harry," Hermione said. Her gaze appeared focused on something invisible on the floor forever just in front of her.

"Her–"

" _Not now_."

Stunned silent, Harry followed Hermione back to Gryffindor Tower and finally lost her when she slipped up the stairs to the girls' bedrooms, unable to follow. With nothing better to do, he retrieved his occlumency book and camped out at the base of the staircase. Hermione had been there for him far more times than he could count. The least he could do was try to return the favour.

* * *

Hermione kept a vigilant watch over her own emotions, knowing she was on the edge of a breakdown. The last time this happened, the Sorting Hat had been kind enough to keep her under its influence long enough for her to recover. The mirror had no such mercy, and even for what was reflected for her, it had a terrifying enthralment to the dream it painted.

 _How can that be my heart's desire?_ Hermione asked herself, careful not to sound pleading even in the sanctuary of her own mind. If the Sorting Hat were here on her head, it would tell her it told her so. _I_ know _I want more out of life than that. I'm not that boring. There's so much I want to do, and even more that I_ have _to do. The mirror has to be broken._

In the second year Gryffindor girls' bathroom, Hermione used her robe to wipe away the condensation on the bathroom mirror from Parvati's shower. She stared at herself, hoping to find some truth hidden in her reflection, but the image would only be complete with Harry watching her off to the side and a vigilant Professor Flitwick in the background of the charms classroom.

That was, after all, what she saw in the _Mirror_ of Erised.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hermione's heart's desire is probably not what you're thinking. She's a little too caught up in her own story for something simple.


	4. The Grass Isn't Always Greener

**A/N:** JKR owns Harry Potter.

* * *

Act One - Best Friends  
Chapter Four - The Grass Isn't Always Greener

"Pst! Harry!" Ron whispered, a hand held in front of his mouth. "What's up with Hermione today?"

Harry looked up from his breakfast. He turned to Ron in the seat next to him, and then he turned to glance at Hermione sitting across the table.

"She's right there, Ron," Harry replied, not at all hiding his words. "You can just ask her."

Still whispering, Ron said, "Are you mad? She's in one of her _moods_. I'm not walking into that trap. I'd be deaf before I finish eating."

Harry sighed. "Hermione, do you want to tell Ron what's wrong?"

"No."

Just by the tone of her voice, it was hard to tell if Hermione was mad, or upset, or sad, or some combination of the above, or who knew what. Ron's choice of words might very well have been on point. Hermione was in a mood. Giving it more definition than that might not even be possible, except perhaps that it was a thoughtful one. But then when was Hermione ever _not_ thoughtful?

"There you go," Harry said to Ron. "She doesn't want to talk about it. She'll be fine tomorrow." _And if she's not, she promised she'd talk to me._ Admittedly, Harry was rather curious what Hermione saw in the mirror. For now, though, all Hermione had asked for was for him to put up with her while she worked through whatever it was she saw on her own.

Ron looked highly sceptical. "What, did she not master the patronus charm in five minutes? Is that why she's…you know?"

"Neither of us expected to. I only got the shield version to work."

"Okay, but did she–"

"Just leave it be," Harry interrupted. "She'll be fine by the time you see her tomorrow, if not sooner. It's Hermione; she's a tough girl." He actually caught the hint of a smile forming on Hermione's lips.

Ron fell silent for a second or two, and Harry saw him glancing down the table at Ginny. Whether it was for magical, telepathic sibling advice, or if he was just trying to ponder girls, Harry could only guess.

"So, Hermione, any plans today?" Harry asked.

Hermione stopped poking at her eggs and looked up. "You need to talk to Susan. Get her after defence."

And talking to Susan Bones inevitably meant coming into contact with Hannah Abbott, not exactly something Harry was looking forward to. Still, it'd be a good idea to clear the air with as much of Hufflepuff as possible before the break. Talking to MacMillan was going to be a disaster, not that he and Harry had spoken much before, but surely talking to Abbott would only be awkward. _Right?_

Harry sighed. As if life could be so easy for him.

"Or not," Hermione said in reaction to Harry's sigh. "I'm still hoping for not."

"No, I've put off contacting Lady Bones far too long already." Seeing as Harry was the only person who could open the Chamber of Secrets now, it seemed prudent to him to find out if the DMLE needed access to finish their investigation. That was the kind of proactive behaviour Hermione had pushed for. It was the kind of behaviour that would at least make Harry Potter famous instead of the Boy-Who-Lived. Or so he hoped. "I was more asking after your plans, though. Do you need anything?"

"I'm not made of glass, Harry."

"Be careful," Ron whispered to Harry, but not nearly quietly enough. "Girls get scary when you push them too far. Ginny has this awful bat-bogey hex, and who knows what Hermione could throw at you."

It was a very good thing Hermione seemed to be simply ignoring Ron this morning. The last thing she needed was to blow up at him, and Harry very much did not want to clean up the mess which he knew he would be left with.

"I know that," Harry said, similarly ignoring Ron. "It hasn't stopped you before, though. Unless you think _I_ am?"

"Fine," Hermione finally agreed. Although she certainly sounded a bit miffed, she did trade knowing smirks with Harry. "If you must know, I need to talk to Daphne, so you can run along and play. Her family deals in potion ingredients I need for the summer."

Off to his side, Harry heard Ron mumble something about summer and studying. He _was_ going to make a sarcastic remark about how Hermione very much sounded like his governess right now, but there would be time enough to tease her about that later when she was in a more palatable mood.

"Really? Wouldn't the apothecary in Diagon Alley have what you need?"

"Possibly," Hermione replied, giving Harry a subtle _look_ that suggested she was probably after something that shouldn't be made public knowledge, which explained why she was not eager to share her plans for today. "If they don't, though, I'd prefer to already be in negotiations with Daphne."

"Fair enough." Then, because he was almost sure whatever Hermione was after was for him in one way or another, Harry said, "Let me know if you need a few galleons."

"I should have enough pocket money, but thanks." The strangest smile found its way onto Hermione's face as she said that. It was small, mysterious, and directed into her breakfast rather than to anyone in particular.

 _I wonder what that's about? I've never seen her so… I don't even know what the word is. Mellow? Serene? Centred? Except maybe for that morning on the Astronomy Tower._

But that smile was not to last. It left only seconds later to be replaced by the same frown that had dominated Hermione's face all morning.

"You're handing out galleons?" Ron asked. "Didn't you say you don't have access to your vault?"

This time it was Harry's turn to smile. It was more a grin, really. "Hermione talked the headmaster into giving her my vault key."

"Are you serious?" When Harry nodded, Ron said, "That's bloody brilliant! You should get yourself some real clothes and a flat."

"Ron, if Harry could get a flat, he'd have come to live with you or me last year straight out of school."

There was a moment where Ron looked like he wanted to say something, but then he admitted that Hermione had a point.

"I do agree that you need proper clothes, though. I think I want to burn those rags you have even more than you do."

Harry chuckled at that. "Well, I won't stand in your way."

"Actually," Hermione continued, "why don't you send an owl to the Dursleys and tell them you'll find your own way ho – to their place. That should keep them from ambushing you and taking your wand while in public." The emphasis on those last two words was unmistakable, if subtle. "You can spend the night at my place, and we can go shopping the next day."

Before Harry could reply, Ron preempted him, saying, "Don't do it! It's a trap! Don't ever go clothes shopping with a girl."

Hermione scoffed at the comment, rolling her eyes. "I'll tell Mum to stay at home."

Harry's eyebrows rose ever so slightly at the implication that Hermione might not consider herself a girl, but he dismissed it just as fast. Anyone who knew her would agree that Hermione Granger was not, in any sense of the word, girly.

"I'd rather not send Hedwig there alone," Harry said before Ron and Hermione could start another row, not that Hermione seemed much in the mood for a shouting match this morning. She even let Ron's earlier language pass unchallenged. "They probably wouldn't even read the letter. Would your parents be willing to call them for me?"

"I don't see why not," Hermione replied. "We need to send them a letter anyway to let them know to expect you. Do you mind if I use Hedwig?"

Harry shook his head. "Of course not. Your letters home are probably the only reason she hasn't gotten bored and left."

"I'm sure your affections and owl treats have something to do with it, too." Hermione set her fork down and wiped her mouth of crumbs. "I'll go get started on it, then. See you at herbology."

Harry nodded, smiling once Hermione had left. He was under no illusion that whatever it was she saw in the mirror had fled her mind, but at the very least, she sounded less grumpy now. What exactly he did to help was a bit of a mystery to him, but it was about time he could start paying her back for the frankly absurd amount of emotional support she provided.

There was also that other matter preying on Harry's mind, but he could wait for Hermione to be in a more receptive mode for conversation to bring it up. She never did like having her schedules interfered with. Discussing it now might just cause an explosion that would inevitably require him to spend a great deal of time calming her down. Yes, it would be better to wait. With any luck, later she would only be mildly irked.

* * *

Come potions class, Hermione had written directions to a disused classroom on the fourth floor on a small slip of paper. It was near enough to the more commonly travelled corridors that Hogwarts _probably_ would leave the room where it was between now and dinner, but one never knew with the castle. The stairs moved, the halls warped, and secret passages came and went at their leisure. More importantly, however, the classroom was also far enough out of the way so as to be unobtrusive.

As she walked to her seat beside Neville – the poor boy needed help in this class and against Professor Snape as much for his own grades as for everyone else's safety – Hermione silently let her hand fall onto Daphne Greengrass's desk and trail across a small pile of textbooks. When it came back up, she was one scrap of paper poorer.

The note was unsigned, since doing otherwise would defeat the purpose of a clandestine meeting. It did have a specific time, however, and when Daphne finally got around to noticing it, the mere fact that it was written on paper and not parchment would clue her in as to who it was from. Nothing screamed muggleborn like paper.

Potions went by in the usual manner. Since there were no exams this term, for review, Professor Snape had written the instructions for a sleeping draught on the board and had vigorously underlined all the points where the potion could turn into a mist and knock everyone out while glaring at Neville. The entire potion would take about an hour and a half to brew; as such, he emphasised that there would be no second chances today.

While brewing and keeping an eye on her lab partner, Hermione's thoughts wandered to last year, and in particular, how much easier her life might have been. _I wish I'd known about this potion when Harry and I carried Norbert up to the Astronomy Tower. We probably wouldn't have forgotten Harry's cloak and have been caught, then. No weeks of scorn from the rest of Gryffindor. No detention in the Forbidden Forest. It just proves my point to Harry about knowing what magicks exist._

Hermione shook her head as her cauldron bubbled and brewed. _I still can't believe Hagrid left us alone in the forest. He was the one who said nothing would hurt us_ if _we were with him or Fang. Not that Fang helped Harry when he ran into Quirrelmort later on. I swear I like the man, but his judgement can leave much to be desired at times. Not that we were supposed to_ actually find _what was catching those unicorns. I suppose we_ would _have been fine if Quirrelmort hadn't been on the prowl that night. Probably…_

 _Still, we did deserve the detention, just maybe not that particular variety given our then ages. There were so many better ways to take Norbert out of Hogwarts. Most obviously, since Hagrid goes into the Forbidden Forest regularly anyway, he could've just carried Norbert through the forest and outside the wards. Seriously, why did we even use the Astronomy Tower as our pick-up point?_

 _Oh well. Another year older, another year wiser. I wonder how many more mistakes I made this year I'll spot…_

Sighing, Hermione went about finishing her potion and went on with her day. Without a defence professor, Headmaster Dumbledore had taken over the class himself and had covered a good chunk of the remaining second year curriculum already, which was, unfortunately, more than half of it. One of these years, they _had_ to get a good defence professor. Harry would probably insist on practising duelling in private next year, but it would be nice to have some proper formal instruction.

 _At least second year only covers the more dangerous magical pests and not actual self-defence. Next year is dangerous magical creatures, and the year after that the extremely dangerous ones. Fifth year is_ supposed _to be a proper self-defence class, but one can only hope._

When class was dismissed, Hermione watched a horribly awkward Harry approach Susan and a very embarrassed, bright-red Hannah Abbott, the latter of whom promptly excused herself after a few stuttering words. Harry and Susan then left class together to find a quiet place to talk without eavesdroppers.

Time passed quickly in the library for Hermione as dinner neared. She checked her mechanical watch almost obsessively to avoid getting lost in a sadly thin book about wandlore. This was the last such book she and Harry had found in the entire library, and neither had found so much as a passing mention of whatever had happened between their rowan wands.

They _had_ , however, cautiously determined that the phenomenon was one, replicable; two, happened only between their rowan wands; and three, occurred when 'offencive' spells met, for some strange definition of offencive. Unfortunately, that was where their knowledge ended. They had a few semi-educated guesses as to why the phenomenon occurred at all, but with only one data point, they could hardly draw any meaningful conclusions. Their best guess – and even that they were sceptical of – was that Hermione had made nearly exact duplicates of a wand, and that somehow caused a strange interaction between them.

Hermione checked her watch again. Finally Slytherin's last class for the day was almost over, so she packed up her bookbag and made her way to the fourth floor classroom and her meeting with Daphne. Daphne, who was _somehow_ already there when she arrived despite her head start and Hogwarts's moving stairs offering her no problems whatsoever.

"And here I thought you were going to be late to your own meeting," Daphne said from behind the desk she'd obviously commandeered for her own use. She gestured to a chair on the other side and then folded her hands together – typical Daphne.

Just to be sure, Hermione checked her watch. Being on time for this was the entire reason she had it with her today to begin with, and lo and behold, she was five minutes early as both expected and planned. Daphne must have left class early just to get here before her – how petty.

Frowning, Hermione replied, "I'm really not in the mood for throwing thinly veiled insults at each other today, Daphne. Can we just pretend to be professional and talk business?"

This, in turn, caused Daphne to sport her own frown, but at least it was better than her snide smile. "Fine. What illegal potions ingredients do you need this time?"

Hermione winced before she could help herself. Professor Flitwick had lectured her about secrets only last night, and here she was giving them away by accident.

 _Forget Harry._ I _need to get in touch with my inner Slytherin. At least he doesn't give away secrets when merely confronted with them._

By this point, Daphne was smiling again, her head propped up on her hands. Judging by how she swayed slightly from side to side, she was likely swinging her feet back and forth beneath the desk in glee. No doubt she was happy to have gotten one over on academic rival number one.

"How did you find out?" Hermione grudgingly asked.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Please. Everyone who was put into Slytherin for a real reason and then some knows about your little mishap with polyjuice. Next time, memory charm the stooges you replace when you're done with them."

To be fair, Hermione had to admit Daphne had a point. The number of mistakes made this year to learn from went up by one. "Free advice?"

"We can always tack it onto your bill. Although I will say that nothing you three did was _technically_ illegal."

Hermione filed away the fact that polyjuice was not or was loosely regulated into the back of her mind. It might be a good idea to have a fresh cauldron of it sitting around if Harry continued to insist on getting into his usual misadventures.

And then Hermione made the connection. "But memory charms are?"

"Tch."

Hermione mentally patted herself on the back for avoiding that little pitfall. No blackmail material for Daphne Greengrass today or anytime soon – not that she had any plans to memory charm anyone to begin with.

"Anyway, what can Greengrass Acquisitions do for you? I can only assume that this is an under the table deal."

Even though she herself had called this meeting, Hermione hesitantly asked, "You're not going to hold this over me, are you?"

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "That would be unprofessional."

 _Well, she sounded honest enough, I suppose… And it's not like developing a reputation for backstabbing is in her own interests._ "I need all the ingredients to brew veritaserum."

Not at all surprised, Daphne nodded to herself ever so slightly. "Is this a rush order?" she asked.

"Er… Maybe." Harry _would_ likely want to have his heart broken sooner rather than later. "Why?"

"Would you prefer to buy veritaserum instead? It's twice the price, but much less of a fuss."

 _Of course they brew their own veritaserum,_ Hermione thought to herself sarcastically. _How could I have expected anything else? I wonder how many_ litres _they sell of it per year._

"I'm not sure if I have enough on me," Hermione said, still debating if it was worth the extra cost. It _would_ be good to have a professional brew it for her, no matter how much confidence she had in her own ability. And Daphne would be somewhat equally culpable if it came to a trial, so professionalism aside, she would keep quiet about this.

"How much do you need?" Daphne asked.

According to the instructions, three drops was all she actually _needed_ to guarantee answers, although two drops would guarantee truthful answers and be less obvious, if what Hermione had read was correct. But it was always better to have more than necessary than not enough.

"Just enough for one…question and answer session–"

"Interrogation," Daphne unhelpfully provided.

"–and a little extra just in case. I'm not sure how… Could I buy it in chocolate bar form?"

"How droll, but of course," Daphne said, and at first that was all. But then a puzzled expression found its way onto her face. Hermione thought she mumbled, "Dementors?" and mere seconds after that, she somehow concluded, "Sirius Black?"

"How did you…" If that did not give the answer away, Hermione's stunned gaping certainly did. Already she could hear Professor Flitwick lecturing her for having a looser tongue than Hagrid.

"You gave me three periods to divine what you were after," Daphne said as if that explained everything. "Then when _you_ asked for veritaserum in sugary treat form, it's fairly obvious. No one would believe you carry chocolate casually."

For perhaps the first time in her life, Hermione regretted being raised by dentists, regardless of how healthy her teeth were and how easy it was to eat well without having grown up on sugar.

"I don't know who you could possibly want to visit in Azkaban, so of course this is a favour for your darling Harry."

Hermione refused to comment on that. "How much?" she bit out.

"Don't quote me on this, but if you want to guarantee you have enough, I'd estimate somewhere between ten and twenty galleons."

For a moment, Hermione sat frozen in shock. _Okay. Maybe I don't have enough pocket money. Even at half the cost for the raw ingredients – if I can even brew that small a batch – that's expensive. And a single mistake…_

"I – I might need to think about it."

Daphne smiled, and that only made Hermione terribly worried. "Of course, of course. Although if you're interested" – Hermione was about ready to run out the door – "it behoves me to ask if you might consider an alternative arrangement."

Really, she should just get up and leave now. Hermione knew that. Anyone with even the slightest bit of sense could see that whatever Daphne's offer, it'd be nearly equivalent to getting into debt with the mob.

"What do you want?" Hermione asked against her better judgement. Maybe – _maybe_ – Daphne would ask for something benign or simply embarrassing. Daphne was, after all, only thirteen. And there was no harm in merely asking.

"Oh, I don't know. Hogwarts's rumour mill is alive and chattering, but no one seems to _know_ anything, so I'll ask you outright. What are you and Potter up to?"

Of all the questions Daphne could have asked or demands she could have made, this was not among the ones Hermione had expected or even come close to considering. The information was harmless, really. And people were _gossipping_ about it? What was wrong with Hogwarts students? Did they really have nothing better to do?

"We're just preparing for the summer. For studying together." Besides her and Harry's new wands, which Daphne had no business asking after, there was hardly anything going on that anyone else would find particularly interesting – not for any sane reason, anyway.

Daphne's disappointment was obvious on her face. "And you did that last year, too?"

"No. Harry's home is… No, we haven't. Besides, I only got him to agree to take his education seriously a couple weeks ago. What did you think we were doing? Snogging?"

"I wouldn't be surprised." Daphne waved her hand dismissively. There was a strange eagerness underlying her tone as she asked, "But you say Potter has just been…what? Coasting on his wits?"

"It's not like he hasn't studied before!" Hermione said, defencive. "He – and even Ron, I suppose – did just fine on their first year finals. He just hasn't…applied himself."

"Since he got here?"

"Yes?" Where was Daphne taking this?

"All first year and all second year?"

Hermione let out an exasperated grunt. "Yes, okay! Harry has been a bad student. What business is it of yours, anyway?"

Daphne _had_ been smiling again, grinning, even, and that looked more than a little strange on her face. But at Hermione's outburst, her mask cracked despite obvious attempts to the contrary, and suddenly she was snarls and vitriol. "Absolutely none. Weasley and Malfoy have seen to that."

"What do you mean?" The question was out before Hermione had really thought about it, and that proved to be a mistake.

"What do I mean? Can you think of a worse representative for Slytherin than Draco Malfoy? By Merlin's beard! He's the most obnoxiously Gryffindor Slytherin I've ever so much as heard tell of, and if you don't love him or at least kiss the very ground he walks on because of his father, you absolutely despise him! I swear, that boy has a brain the size of a peanut and shouts it to the world. His ambition must be unrealistically grandiose for him to have ended up in Slytherin, because he sure didn't make it on his cunning, if you can even call it that."

Hermione unconsciously slid back in her chair at Daphne's outburst, not particularly wanting to be near her at the moment. Even more than that, though, Hermione was surprised to hear how much she – and, reading between the lines, a significant portion of Slytherin – disliked Malfoy.

"And don't even get me started on Weasley! The Weasley twins are obnoxious to the point of borderline bullying and waste our professors' time, the current prefect is irritating, and although I hear the others are alright for Gryffindors, the walking stomach is a prejudiced, bigoted arse as bad as Malfoy but in reverse."

Hermione, admittedly, kind of agreed with Daphne, at least to a small extent. She would probably use 'mildly sexist and completely insensitive' instead, but that was splitting hairs. Still, Ron was sort of her friend, and he was _hardly_ that bad. "I think you're exaggerating a little bit." She'd have said more, but Daphne was upset enough as it was.

After a few more seconds of quiet simmering, Daphne got herself back under control. She pinched the bridge of her nose before she slipped her usual mask of pleasant indifference back on.

"Sorry." Then, again, but with less strain in her voice, Daphne continued, "Sorry. It's just irritating watching the world burn around me."

"Um… I won't pretend I'm not confused, but if you want to be Harry's friend, all you have to do is talk to him. All he really wants in a friend is someone who doesn't look at his scar. Ron would get used to you eventually. He did for me. Mostly. And there's no way to dispel prejudice quite like living among the subjects of it."

Daphne chuckled and said, "Cute," much to Hermione's chagrin. Here she was extending an olive branch – small though it might be – and Daphne threw it back in her face. She might not like the girl, but she would hardly chase Daphne off, either. There was no denying that Harry could use more friends. "Let me ask you a question. Where do you see yourself in twenty years?"

Taken off guard by the change in topic, Hermione had to think for a few seconds longer than she really should have needed. She knew exactly what she needed to do, what she was needed to do. "I'm not sure about in twenty years, but ultimately, well, in politics, unfortunately."

"Let me guess. You want to trample all over our culture like every other muggleborn."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do! Your world is disgustingly racist."

"And yours is filled with strange sexual phobias, weird religions, sexism, and your own strange brand of racism," Daphne retorted. "The muggle world isn't objectively any better, just differently bad."

Hermione grudgingly admitted to herself that Daphne had a point. Her parents had raised her away from as much of that as possible – whether accidentally or purposefully, Hermione had never asked – but primary school had been eye-opening in terrible ways. Even so, the muggle world was actively, if slowly, fixing it's problems, and it vastly outstripped the magical world when it came to technological progress. The magical world was still stuck in the kind of mindset that caused Damascus steel to disappear from the world and sent civilisation reeling backward with the fall of the Roman Empire. Case in point, Hogwarts and Quirrelmort. No one knew how to build another Hogwarts. Even the magic on the Sorting Hat was a lost art. And every aspiring warlord with a little bit of power and delusions of grandeur could ravage the country with impunity.

"Look," Daphne said, cutting off Hermione before she could start up, "if you goal is to improve your lot in life, I'd be a hypocrite to stop you. Hermione Granger stuck in a dead end job in the ministry _would_ be a strange sight. Just leave the weird muggle stuff out of it, and you might even have a chance of success."

"I don't participate in any 'weird muggle stuff'," Hermione said, crossing her arms in a huff.

"Well, then all hail Dark Lady Hermione."

Hermione sputtered some indignant reply that even she found incoherent, much to Daphne's apparent amusement.

"What is a dark lord?" Daphne asked.

Still more than a little irritated, Hermione said, "It's in the name. Basically an aspiring evil overlord."

Rolling her eyes, Daphne said, "We don't have to call it a dark lord. How about light lord? Does that not offend your palate?"

"I'm really not in the mood for this, Daphne."

"See? This is why we don't get along. It's a simple question, merely something to discuss. Now sure, dark lords have a tendency toward the homicidal, but that doesn't define them. What makes, say, You-Know-Who different from Lord Malfoy? What led Grindelwald to tear Europe apart while Dumbledore stepped aside? What made Gryffindor break away from Slytherin?"

"Ugh. Muggleborn, Daphne. Aside from the headmaster and kind of Lord Malfoy, I don't _know_ these people beyond basic historical facts. I didn't grow up hearing about them." As the words properly registered, though, Hermione had to wonder over Daphne's word choice. "Wait, Gryffindor broke away from Slytherin? Isn't it the other way around?"

Daphne leaned back in her chair looking more than a little grumpy. "If you read the very best sort of history texts, you'll find that it was more of a 'You can't fire me. I quit,' sort of affair. They were at each other's throats, and not just over the whole muggleborn issue. They had a longer history together."

And then the other meaning of Daphne's particular ordering of words hit Hermione. "You're calling _Godric Gryffindor_ a dark lord!"

"Again, we can go with light lord if it makes you feel better. But yes. A few centuries can change society's perspective a bit. And since you're obviously not going to answer, in the British Isles alone, Gryffindor sought radical change in reforging a nation from the ruins of Britannia; that was obviously a good idea, and his means were appropriate to the time. Grindelwald was prepared to do everything he thought was necessary to fix the world; a fine idea, but questionable execution. You-Know-Who has all the necessary skills to overwhelm almost anyone who would stand between him and what he wants; bad idea, worse execution."

Casually swishing her wand back and forth, Daphne silently summoned three appropriately coloured wisps of light in succession as she said, "We can call them a light, grey, and dark lord if you wish, but they're all the same. Those are the three points that define a dark lord: ambition, drive, and talent."

That hardly seemed like a useful definition; it failed to capture the _meaning_ when people used the term 'dark lord', but Hermione saw little enough point in arguing over it. She would, however, ascribe a large amount of luck to it as well. For every Grindelwald or Alexander the Great, there had to be a thousand more who could do just as well if put into the same circumstances.

"And from the sound of it," Daphne continued, "you've got all three."

"What! I'm not–" There Hermione had to stop to lower her voice to something that at least only hurt Daphne's ears. "I'm not going to destroy Britain, or – or lead some sort of civil war."

"In case you haven't noticed, we are in but a brief reprieve from civil war right now."

The look in Daphne's eyes as she stared Hermione down said she was one of the people Professor Flitwick had mentioned. She knew what had happened last year in the third floor corridor. And in hindsight, Hermione noticed that Daphne had used the present tense for Quirrelmort and _only_ Quirrelmort.

"Let me be perfectly clear so that your judgemental little Gryffindor brain can understand."

Hermione struggled with the dual desire both to squirm in her chair under Daphne's gaze and to send a volley of hexes Daphne's way – not that she ever would. Somehow, Daphne always knew exactly how to vex her, much like how Malfoy found it so easy to rile Harry up. Those two were just more public and mean-spirited about it. She and Daphne at least respected each other.

"Dumbledore is an old man. He was losing his war until You-Know-Who randomly lost to Potter. The ministry was filled with pieces to be taken, stolen, and discarded. Foreign ministries were terrified of sparking the next world war and left us to our own devices. It's not obvious yet, but we're rapidly approaching the point where we have to _choose sides_. The Greengrasses won't back a sinking ship, and neither will most of the old families."

"So you're just going to do what's easy?" Hermione shouted.

" _Easy_? You think serving a madman would be _easy_? That twisting his nightmarish rule into something halfway livable would be _easy_? Do you know why discipline is so lax at Hogwarts that Malfoy can call you a mudblood to your face every other day without consequences?"

Hermione _had_ wondered, but nothing that came to mind had made much sense to her. Magic had so much utility; it'd be easy enough to monitor the halls even just through the portraits hanging on the walls. They had enough memory to report an incident. To be fair, however, it was barely better in muggle primary school. Bullies were just more subtle there.

Daphne must have seen Hermione's answer on her face. "There's not enough staff to enforce it, even with the relatively recent introduction of student prefects. There are dusty, empty classrooms littered about the school; our population has _plummeted_. There aren't enough children anymore. Hundreds of schools closed over the last fifty years. Hogwarts is the school for the rich and powerful, literally the best in the world at academics as far as the professors and safety record go, and _even it_ is cripplingly underfunded. The _ministry_ is cripplingly underfunded! The last two wars have practically destroyed us. It will take us centuries to recover, _if ever_ , if we fight the next war like we did the last one."

That gave Hermione pause, but only for a moment. "So you're just going to roll over and let Quirrelmort run rampant? That's pathetic."

 _*thunk*_

Daphne slammed presumably her fist into the side of the desk. For a few seconds, Hermione sat in stunned silence while Daphne shook her hand and winced. There was a faint hint of red on her knuckles. Hermione made a mental note to send her to Madam Pomfrey later.

"Yes, I _am_ pathetic," Daphne bit out. "As much as I loathe to admit it, I'm not going to be the next dark lady. The politics don't play in my favour. No one cares about Daphne Greengrass beyond her prematurely developing breasts." Daphne levelled a hateful glare at Hermione. "And despite trying, I'm obviously not academically gifted enough."

 _Oh._ That single word summed up everything else Hermione could have been thinking. Really, that explained a lot of Daphne's temperament if she really felt she was 'watching the world burn around her' and found herself wanting when she tried to help. She was jaded, not asocial.

"I had a lot of hope invested in Potter. Britain was uniting around him despite no one having so much as even seen him since he was born. But he was a disappointment, and worse, nigh unapproachable. He's shy, rebuffs attention, and refuses the responsibility that's been thrown at him, however unfairly. But if he really hasn't been trying…" Daphne shook her head. "Make him great. Make yourself great. Work together. I don't care. Convince me you two can win and keep our world intact, and there's nothing the Greengrass family won't do for you. If not, then here's some more free advice. Don't try to block green spells."

With that, Daphne got to her feet and walked to the door. There she paused. "I should be able to get your chocolate before the term ends. Don't make me regret it."

The door slammed shut, leaving a very distressed and confused Hermione behind. This was not at all how she'd expected her day to go. Daphne had even walked out before she could ask about how the required sphinx tongue was obtained.

* * *

"Ah!" Hermione jumped, and her forgotten book went flying as a pair of fingers were snapped in her face. Merlin but she needed to talk with Harry about not doing that to get her attention. The boy in question took a seat across from her, leaning forward on his crossed arms.

"Well, you're spaced out and worrying about me again. I take it your identity crisis is over?"

Hermione snorted, amused. "I worry about more than just you, you know."

"Without exams? Am I forgetting a homework assignment or something?"

"You prat." Seeing as they were separated by a table, Hermione settled for nudging Harry with her foot. "Daphne and I had an…interesting…conversation. I don't really know what to think about it yet. How did your chat with Susan go?"

"Hmm, well enough. Susan is a nice girl."

Smirking, Hermione leaned forward and propped her head up on her hands. "Is that blushing I see, Mr. Potter? Anything I need to know about?"

"Nothing happened!" He said that, but the deepening blush on Harry's face told an entirely different story.

"Uh-huh. Sure."

"She just thanked me for avenging Justin despite his behaviour is all. They're close friends, apparently."

Hermione hummed in delight, glad for the distraction and for once not to be the one teased for her nonexistent romances. "I see. I suppose I'll have to try a little harder if I want to keep you."

" _Anyway_ ," Harry said, ending the topic and causing Hermione to giggle to herself, "Lady Bones already planned to stop by Thursday with a company of aurors to finish the department's investigation and to make sure there's nothing dangerous left in the chamber. Black probably isn't allowed visitors, but, well, I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, so we'll see."

Hermione shot Harry a mixed sympathetic and worried look, frowning when she realised that _his_ smirk and shrug meant that yes, she did worry about him more than anything else. She nudged him again with her foot to express her mild indignation, which only made Harry laugh. In hindsight, she probably should have seen that coming.

"Well, I hope they bring an archaeologist along with them," Hermione said. "I'm sure a number of heirs have already trampled all over the chamber, but I weep for what a full complement of aurors will do to the place to make sure we're safe."

"To be fair, the basilisk probably already took care of that for you."

"Ah. Good point."

"The chamber was flooded, too," Harry added. "Even if that's how it's supposed to be, that probably doesn't help."

Again, Hermione had to admit that Harry had a good point. She really should have thought of that. Still, there must be _something_ left to study.

"So what was this 'interesting conversation' you had with Greengrass?"

Tapping her fingers on the one tome still open and in her lap, Hermione figured it would be a good idea to run her thoughts by Harry to get his opinion. Daphne had thrown conclusions at her, and a fresh, unbiased mind would be helpful to parse the evidence. There were things that she saw now that she'd missed the last time she read about the last magical war, and she dearly hoped she was just reading into things.

"Harry, did you know Malfoy is an only child?"

A puzzled look was all Hermione received in response to her question. She then took the book that went flying earlier and slid it across the table to Harry. He picked it up and flipped through it, glancing over the family trees it showed.

"Crabbe is, too, and so is Goyle, and Susan, and Abbott, and Neville, and Lovegood, and Goldstein, and probably half the families represented at Hogwarts. Your dad was as well. Even those that aren't only children usually only have one sibling. At least only one close to their own age."

At that, Harry looked up from the book. "Their own age?"

Hermione nodded. "When you're told you're magical, your life expectancy goes up almost a century." _Excluding those who die of unnatural causes._ "That's something no one bothers to tell muggleborn and muggle-raised students, but magicals tend to space out their children as a result, I think. According to that book, Lady Bones is thirty years older than Susan's mum and dad. As far as I can tell, that's part of the reason why the Weasleys have such a hard time financially even though Mr. Weasley is an office head: the economy here expects you to have few dependents at any given time. It doesn't help that with so many kids and" – having found out about the species and their circumstances, Hermione had to struggle to get out the next few words – "no house elf, Mrs. Weasley has had to be a stay-at-home mother."

"That's…interesting." Harry spent a few minutes going back through family trees again, this time lingering on each page to no doubt process the listed birth dates. "I knew about the life expectancy thing; the headmaster is ancient. But I was kind of confused about why few people talked about their families here. I just assumed that, with the war and all, no one would want to, not that they just didn't really have many relatives."

"No, that's most of it. Or at least I think so. There's always someone who's bereaved of a family member within earshot in Magical Britain. People like Malfoy are the only ones who are insensitive enough to shout 'When my father hears about this' across the Great Hall. That's not what I'm getting at, though."

Hermione dug through a stack of books nearby until she found the three thin ones she needed at the moment. Passing them across the table, she said, "These are the British census results for 1981, 1969, and 1935. For Magical Britain, that is. For reference, World War II lasted from 1939 to 1945, when Grindelwald and Nazi Germany were both defeated. You can find the important numbers in the summary."

It only took a few minutes before Hermione was convinced she _was not_ imagining things.

"This is… I – Hermione, I don't know much about the magical side of World War II, but it was about as bad, wasn't it?"

Hermione nodded, lips pursed. "The death toll was approximately proportional to the smaller magical population, but it hit harder because magicals have children slower. The only major difference is there was as much magical British blood as magical Soviet blood. Apparently, Magical Britain got involved a lot sooner than the muggle side."

"Okay, correct me if I'm wrong – never did learn much about the States' history – but Quirrelmort's war went sort of like a magical Vietnam War, right? Guerrilla warfare and all that, right? Plus terrorist tactics?"

"Yes. Sort of. I don't know much about that war, either, and it wasn't exactly a civil war." Hermione bit her lip, wishing she'd studied history more thoroughly before now; it would take a lot of effort to make a proper comparison. She did know, however, that Quirrelmort's war had been bloodier than _any_ civil war she'd _ever_ heard of, excepting _maybe_ ones at the end of the Roman Republic. "Still, I don't think it's unfair to expect the change in casualties there on both sides to be a rough approximation for here. I haven't been able to fact check that against other wars, though. Does that seem like a wrong assumption to you?"

"No…" Harry looked back and forth between the 1981 and 1969 census before shaking his head. "How did Quirrelmort cause a _higher_ percentage of deaths in Britain than _a bloody world war_?"

Gnawing on her lip again, Hermione briefly debated whether she wanted to say anything. This was very much panic inducing information, but it was still a wild guess. There were other possible explanations, many of which were less distressing. There really were.

They just lacked the same horrifying ring of truth. Daphne had never brought it up, but that could mean anything. Maybe being raised in Magical Britain, it was just a blind spot of perspective. Maybe she wanted to keep the information to herself in case she sided with Quirrelmort. Maybe she just felt it was unimportant or would not be taken well.

But then Hermione reflected on how much more critical of ideas Harry had already become. Or at least how much more willing he was to express objections and poke holes. Harry was made of stern stuff, probably sterner stuff than herself, if she were being honest. And she was sure he knew how to keep a secret far better than her, at least until they figured out what on Earth they wanted to do with the information. It would bias his own conclusions, but she very much wanted to compare thoughts.

"Harry…" There Hermione trailed off before resummoning her courage to give voice to her fears. "Harry, do you remember how I mentioned there were things about the last war that didn't seem quite right?" After getting a nod, Hermione continued, "No proper muggle war has lasted a decade since before the twentieth century."

Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione cut him off.

"The Cold War doesn't count."

"What about–"

Cutting Harry off, Hermione said, "Neither do those little conflicts with one side having only a few hundred people at any given time. Quirrelmort had thousands supporting his cause, if only a couple hundred willing combat forces at most. He had the resources of a proper army."

Harry crossed his arms and frowned, but he said nothing further on the matter.

"Okay, now, you'd think magical wars would either be much faster or proceed at a snail's pace. I'm not an experienced enough duellist to know which one, but it should be one or the other, depending on how difficult it is to tear down wards and shields and track targets. I'm not sure how the smaller population would affect things, but I'm sure war scales _somehow_. We should see _something_ about Quirrelmort's war other than what we got. Please, _please_ tell me I'm wrong."

"No, I agree." Although he said that, Harry sounded as unhappy about it as Hermione felt. "The war just…dragged on and on. His side used the imperius curse liberally and worse besides. How hard can it be to install a new government and be done with it?"

"That's really not what I wanted to hear, Harry."

The boy in question managed a dry chuckle. "Sorry. But I got the same feeling when I read those history books you gave me. There _has_ to be something we're missing. I'm not saying it's _easy_ to overthrow an established ministry, but if only one side is willing to mind control people…"

"It's worse than that," Hermione said. She took out another book from the stack and passed it to Harry after first flipping it open to the right page courtesy of a sticky note. He skimmed the other book titles in the pile before looking down at the first of many budgetary reports. "Daphne says the ministry is currently severely underfunded, especially the DMLE, and not much has changed in the last couple decades. Inflation doesn't seem to be a thing here, either. Don't ask me how."

Hermione let that sink in while she hoped that Harry came to a different conclusion than the one she had. If Daphne were to be believed, the ministry was as underfunded now as it'd been at the end of the last war, and things were little better at the start.

"What… That can't be right…" Harry flipped back and forth through the pages before suddenly stopping. He looked up from the book, his brows furrowed. "Hermione, did he even _want_ to win?"

The look on Hermione's face must have given her theory away, because Harry's face paled and his eyes widened.

With an uneven voice, Harry asked, "He didn't, did he?"

"I don't know," Hermione replied in a small voice.

"What – what even was the point of it all? Why would he… Just…why?"

"I don't know," Hermione said in an even smaller voice. "I don't know enough magic to know if there's some ritual or something that he was working toward with all those deaths, or if there was some darker purpose he was furthering the whole time, or something even worse and more terrible than that. I just don't know."

A pregnant silence grew between her and Harry, neither knowing quite what to say. Really, what _did_ one say when a relatively straightforward, daft monster turned out to possibly be something far more sinister?

And yet Quirrelmort's behaviour the last two years clashed with that picture. Hermione still stood by her declaration that he'd gone about his tasks in just about _the least_ efficacious way possible. She was far from being ready to say that the last war had dragged on for so long because both sides were just _that_ incompetent, but that meant something darker was likely at work.

"Do you think the headmaster knows?" Hermione asked quietly, breaking the heavy silence.

Harry thought for a moment, tapping his fingers nervously on the desk. "I don't see how he wouldn't. He practically ran the war and the ministry before that. We should still tell him, though, just in case."

"Agreed."

Tap, tap, tap, went Harry's nervous fidgeting. Hermione searched her memory for when she might have seen him so unsettled and came up empty. As angry, sure, but nerves had never been his problem; of the two of them, Hermione worried enough for them both already.

"Hermione," Harry said, drawing her out of troubled and worsening thoughts. "Leave Britain."

"No."

"Imperius your parents, if that's what it takes. Just run."

Hermione shot to her feet, her chair screeching in protest behind her. "Harry James Potter, I'm not going anywhere! If you think–"

The rest of what Hermione had been about to say was cut off. She screamed a few more words in silence before she realised there was an irritated Ms. Pince staring down at her with a piercing glare. She promptly snapped her mouth closed then and sat down, her back perfectly straight and her hands in her lap. Being kicked out of the library would normally be horrible in and of itself, but these were her last few days with free access to the restricted section. Nothing would be more terrible than losing that privilege, ill-gotten though it was.

Ms. Pince waved her wand, and Hermione found herself able to speak again. "Sorry."

"I'm sure I don't need to inform you of the rules, Miss Granger. Keep it down." Ms. Pince glared at Hermione again before wandering off back toward the front of the library and the circulation desk.

Once she was sure they were alone again, Hermione said, "Harry–"

At the same time, Harry said, "Hermione–"

Absolutely not about to suffer through Harry's hero complex, Hermione crossed her arms and spoke over him. "Harry, I'm not leaving you here. I'll make an unbreakable vow if that's what it takes to make you accept that. In case you don't know, you die if you break it." That was not exactly correct, but the point was made.

"You can't!" Harry hissed.

Whispering, Hermione said, "Watch me! I'm not going to run away and leave you to die, and I'm certainly not going to imperius my own parents to do it!"

Harry and Hermione sat locked in a staring contest, neither willing to bend. Hermione knew Harry was stubborn, but in this, at least, she would outlast him. There was no way she was leaving. Forget the life debt – she could ignore that irritation if she really had to – there was no hope she would ever find someone who could replace Harry in her life. She could infer as such from the awful memory of her sorting, and the Mirror of Erised telling her she already had what she most desired had only reinforced that fact. It'd taken a bit of romanticising – _again_ – but she was mostly at peace with herself once more.

"Fine." Harry sounded more than a little grumpy, but he caved.

Hermione let out a long sigh and let herself relax into her seat, silently cheering in her mind. "Harry, I'm sure I'm already a huge target anyway, if not as big of one as you are. I'm sure Quirrelmort knows I helped you ruin his plans last year; he's not going to let _that_ go. And besides, I'm the mudblood who thinks she's Merlin, remember? Muggleborn _and_ showing up the purebloods? Can't have that, now can we?"

Harry let out his own sigh. "No, I suppose we can't. Just…don't sacrifice yourself to save me. I've had enough of that to last a lifetime."

"Well, I certainly won't go around sticking my arm into a basilisk's mouth, if that makes you feel better. I'm a little more attached to my life than that."

Even before she finished mentioning it, Harry's hand was on his arm over where the basilisk fang had penetrated it. Just underneath his robe remained a scar that even phoenix tears had failed to heal. "I suppose I deserved that," he said. "I don't exactly have a good track record on keeping myself safe, do I?"

"Not even close."

"Is your house at least warded?"

Hermione nodded. "We got them over the Yule holiday first year when it became apparent that there were people that _really_ didn't like me. Or, well, more the idea of me. Emergency portkeys, too, including one to St. Mungo's."

"Well, that's something." Harry sighed and slumped back into his chair. He sent some strange, undecipherable look Hermione's way before shaking his head.

"Oh, by the way, I think the Greengrasses are tentatively on our side."

"Really?" Harry sounded just as surprised as Hermione had been when she finally realised exactly what Daphne had told her.

"She said if we, and I quote, 'convince her that we' – you and I, specifically – 'can win and keep the magical world intact, there's nothing the Greengrass family won't do for us'." Hermione chose not to repeat the 'advice' Daphne had offered up in the other eventuality; without the context, Harry would almost certainly take it badly. "I suspect the Greengrasses aren't the only people who think that way."

"I knew there had to be a silver lining somewhere," Harry said with obviously faux cheer. Hermione smiled at the attempt regardless. "Weren't they hardline neutral last time?"

"Yes, but Daphne doesn't think that'll last. She and I don't get along all that well, but I really don't know how to express just how helpful it would be to have her as an ally and _not_ as an enemy. Lord Greengrass is a member of the Wizengamot, and the Greengrass family has a lot of economic resources. Daphne herself is very smart, too. She's consistently in the top five on term finals for all years."

"Do you think we can trust her?" Hermione nodded, so Harry asked, "Did she say what we'd have to do to convince her we can win? _I'm_ not even convinced we can win. And… _we_?"

"Er…" _What's a good way to say she's looking for the next dark lord? Or light lord, I guess. Ugh, I can't believe I used that term._ "I…don't think there's anything in particular we can do besides try our best. She's not expecting us to duel Quirrelmort by this time next year or anything like that. But she doesn't have much faith in Headmaster Dumbledore, so yes, Harry, _we_."

Harry was tapping his fingers again, his head resting on one hand. "Are you sure she can be trusted? She _is_ a Slytherin."

"I think so. She was pretty emotional to be lying."

The tapping stopped. "Daphne Greengrass?"

Hermione snickered despite herself at the expression on Harry's face. "She's not _actually_ devoid of all emotions but smug indifference and condescending amusement, you know. She'll probably warm up to us when she thinks the world is less doomed. I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that, but…" She trailed off into a shrug.

"Fair enough," Harry said, resuming his steady rapping. Eventually, he said, "Hermione, what do you think are the chances that I – me specifically – have to kill Quirrelmort? That would be just my luck, and I know it's _possible_ to see the future, even if I'm not clear on the how."

"Thinking like that could very well be a self-fulfilling prophecy, Harry. I'm sure he's only after you because you were around when he embarrassed himself."

Harry sighed. "I guess that does seem more likely."

"Exactly! Besides, either way, I'll be with you every step of the way. You don't have to do it alone."

"Thanks." Harry managed a weak smile. "While we're on the topic, we need to discuss something."

After Harry failed to say anything further for a few seconds, Hermione said, "Yes?" dragging out the word expectantly.

"Promise not to get mad until you hear me out all the way."

Hermione rolled her eyes but did so anyway. "Yes, yes. I promise."

"Remember we're in a library."

"Urgh. What _is it_ , Harry?"

"I've been thinking, and I think we're doing this all wrong."

Now curious, Hermione asked, "Doing what wrong?"

"Studying."

Hermione stomped down on her urge to respond to that, however it might have come out. Her word was her oath, so she would listen first _and then_ berate Harry. "I'm listening," she bit out.

"I'm not saying we shouldn't study everything and get a broad range of knowledge about the basics. We should. I can't tell you how many times I've heard people say how important the fundamentals are. Does that make you feel less like biting off my head?"

It did, actually. Hermione felt her muscles relax, and she could admit – to herself – to being more open to _actually_ listening now. "Exercising those Slytherin instincts, I see."

Harry actually cringed at that. _I_ really _need to find out what his problem with Slytherin is. It can't be_ all _Ron's attitude and Malfoy's behaviour._

"I suppose. Anyway, Quirrelmort is sixty-six years old, and from those books you gave me, it sounded like he refused to ever meet Headmaster Dumbledore on even ground. Not just avoided, but outright refused, running away as soon as possible if it ever came close to that. Against him, Quirrelmort only ever made hit-and-run attacks, laid ambushes, poisoning attempts, et cetera."

"And from this you conclude…"

"It's a really, _really_ bad idea to ever try to fight him on anything so much as slightly resembling even ground, even just to run away. There's the same age and experience gap between him and us as between him and Dumbledore. If he couldn't do it, presumably we're not going to catch up just by studying, either. Even if we somehow found a way to share our learning experiences through legilimency and doubled our study rate, it'd still take decades to overcome the age difference. I doubt he's ever stopped learning or trying to make himself more powerful.

"Of course, it _could_ just be a matter of not wanting to gamble on the outcome, but… Well, I'm sure you'll find a way to torture me even if I'm dead if I take a gamble with my life that even Quirrelmort – who's apparently able to cheat death – refused to make."

Hermione gnawed on her lip, processing Harry's argument. It was something of a mixed blessing that he was actually starting to use his brain now since he could point out these problems. Sure, it was good to point them out, but they were a bit hope crushing.

"You forgot to incorporate your new information. He might have just been stalling for whatever his real endgame was," Hermione suggested. "We don't actually know what his ultimate goal was. Maybe he needed an ongoing war."

After a few seconds of thought, Harry said, "That's a fair point. But it only makes the experience gap seem more insurmountable. Who knows what he must have done to catch up."

"Tch." That was an entirely reasonable response – how depressing. "So what is it you have in mind?"

Obviously nervous, Harry's gaze shot to a very lovely series of violet books nearby.

"I see," Hermione said, sighing. "We'll just have to brainstorm sometime soon, then. Things haven't gone pear-shaped yet."

"To be fair," Harry said, "I'm not completely without an idea. Well, more a vague, general aim for the start of an idea." He waited until Hermione stopped chuckling before continuing. "I'm pretty sure Quirrelmort knows all about muggle weapons, given that he grew up with bombs raining down on his head, so I don't think that's the answer. Short of an atomic bomb, I don't know what could have much of an effect anyway."

Just to put it out there, Hermione said in jest, "No transfiguring weapons of mass destruction, Mr. Potter."

"Please," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Even Pansy Parkinson wouldn't be foolish enough to do that. I'd have to be drunk, high, and sleep deprived before it'd even _sound_ like a good idea."

"Okay," Hermione said, chuckling to herself. "No muggle weapons, or at least don't depend on them. What's your 'vague, general aim for the start of an idea', then?"

Harry nudged her with a foot under the table, silently protesting the quotation. "I think we need to find something…new, I guess would be the way to put it. Something Quirrelmort would be just as new to as we would be. But that isn't easily picked up, or the surprise would only work once. It needs to be effective, too."

"Ah, I get it. Attempting to invent spells would be a gamble and easily copied once done, and we don't even know how to go about it, so we should just keep an eye out for new applications of existing things while we study?"

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding. "Sorry it's not much."

"It's more than enough, Harry. If you pointed this out ten years later, _then_ we might have already been doomed at that point. You've been brilliant enough for today. I hate to admit it, but I'd probably never have thought of that."

Harry flushed a bit as he denied that. "Hardly. I'm sure you'd have noticed soon enough."

"I doubt it. Even if I did, it wouldn't change that you did, too, and faster. You'll just have to face the terrible truth: you're smart, too." Hermione smirked at the blushing, quiet laughter she managed to get out of Harry. _If I keep this up, he might actually come to believe he's as smart as he is._

Breathing a deep sigh, Harry slumped back in his chair so that his head hung backward. "Hermione, I think I'm going to go for a short fly. I need to get my mind off all this for a little while. Do you want to come with?"

"Um, I take back what I said earlier. I'll be with you _almost_ every step of the way."

Hermione pursed her lips and hummed angrily as Harry got up, laughing, this time without caring who heard. Really, there was nothing wrong with wanting your feet on the ground, especially when it came to broom _sticks_. There just had to be a better way to fly. _I guess there's always Mr. Weasley's flying car…_

"You really need to get over your fear of heights, Hermione."

"It's not the height that bothers me. It's being on _a_ _line segment_ and the turbulence. That, and brooms don't seem to like me."

"If you say so." There was a smirk on Harry's face as he said that. Hermione glared at his back until he retreated out of sight behind a bookshelf, and even then, she followed where she expected him to be a little longer.

 _Honestly,_ Hermione thought, shaking her head, _there's something wrong with that boy. No one should be comfortable nose diving to an inch above the ground._

Sighing, Hermione cast a levitation spell to bring the books Harry had left out of her reach back to her and stacked them atop one another before putting them off to the side for reshelving. After getting Harry's concurring opinion about the last war and Quirrelmort's suspect motivations, there was little point in reading any further in them.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione was very rudely accosted from the Gryffindor Common Room before she could head down to breakfast. Her abductor led her down through no less than sixteen flights of stairs while she cursed whatever foul geometry Hogwarts – the _eight storey_ castle – tormented her so with. She swore it was never so bad when she was on her own.

Eventually, after several unanswered questions, Hermione found herself sitting on a flat, rocky outcropping hanging over Black Lake with her legs swinging freely below her. The morning dew still clung to the ground as the sun peeked over the horizon, and there was a slight chill in the air, but nothing a warming charm would not stave off.

"Here, I nicked this from the Great Hall," Harry said, holding out a scone.

"Thanks." Hermione let out an appreciative hum after tearing off a bite. The blackberry scones here easily held a place of honour on her list of favourite foods. "How early did you get up?"

Harry shrugged. "Earlier than you."

Her brows furrowing, Hermione leaned closer to Harry to get a good look at his eyes.

 _Bloodshot._ Looking him over more thoroughly, Hermione found and plucked one of Hedwig's feathers from a fold in Harry's robes. "Harry, did you sleep at all last night?"

Harry shrugged again. "Some. You know me and my brooding."

Hermione shook her head at the blatant disregard Harry had for his own health. Instead of scolding him for it, she said, "At least you're self-aware about it."

"I suppose. I also know I tend to say I'm fine when you, or worse, Madam Pomfrey, would confine me to bed."

"Ha! What an understatement. 'I'm fine' to you seems to mean 'I won't die'."

Harry at least had the common decency to look ashamed. "Yes, well, it's tomorrow. Are _you_ actually fine, or do you want to talk?"

It took Hermione a few seconds to remember the promise Harry had extracted from her yesterday morning. Giving him a knowing look before turning back to gaze out over the lake, Hermione said, "You're just curious about what I saw in the mirror, aren't you?"

"I am, and I'd also like to know if it's going to help you at all with your patronus or if I should just start groveling now" – Hermione rolled her eyes – "but you _were_ really upset earlier. And be honest. If our roles were reversed, we'd be here right now anyway, wouldn't we?"

"I'd have picked the library," Hermione mumbled into her scone. That, or she would find an empty room somewhere if privacy were a serious concern.

"It's closed," Harry countered.

"I'd have waited until you'd at least changed out of your jim-jams."

"Oh, yes," Harry said sarcastically to Hermione, who was very clearly already dressed for the day. "I'm definitely the kind of guy who'd drag a girl around Hogwarts in her nightwear."

Sighing, Hermione recognised that Harry would refuse to give this up unless she said something. "It's nothing, Harry." She also recognised that she had, technically, just told him what she saw. As a closet Slytherin, he could hardly complain later. "I already tried using it for my patronus memory, approximately, but Professor Flitwick said it was too passive and needed more…kick was the word he used."

"So I should start groveling, then?"

Hermione nudged Harry with her elbow, which only made him laugh.

"Alright," Harry said, "but you _are_ fine, right? Actually fine?"

For perhaps the hundredth time in the past couple days, Hermione found herself reflecting on the memory of her sorting at the start of first year.

* * *

"Granger, Hermione," called out the voice of Professor McGonagall.

Terribly nervous, both about her sorting and being in front of so many people, Hermione forced herself into a mere fast walk instead of running to the stool upon which the Sorting Hat awaited her to decide her fate. She told herself to relax, for all the good that did, before jamming the hat onto her head.

" _Gryffindor, please!_ " Hermione thought to the very obviously telepathic Sorting Hat.

There was a moment of silence before the Sorting Hat replied, " _Oh dear. You don't understand how this works at all, do you?_ "

Hermione winced at the rebuke. Before she could properly form the question in her thoughts, the hat picked up on it and answered it for her.

" _This is not where you pick a house of your liking, Miss Granger. This is about finding where you most belong and will best thrive._ "

Her shoulders slumping, Hermione resigned herself to Ravenclaw. Not that it was a bad house by any standard, but she had hoped at least to have the chance to be seen as something other than a know-it-all bookworm for once. Maybe reading the entire first year curriculum for 1990 and more besides before she even received her official Hogwarts letter in July the next year had been a bad idea.

" _So assuming,_ " the hat said. " _I have, of course, sorted children who so quickly jump to conclusions into Ravenclaw before, but I do not make that mistake. You require a more thorough examination, Miss Granger. Unlike so many other children who come beneath my brim, you are both older and more mature, more balanced. No doubt your experiences with bullying have forced you to grow up. And I see your parents have responded in kind, giving you more responsibilities and control over your own life. Yes, we shall have to look deeper to see who you really are._ "

" _Um, do I get a say in this?_ " Hermione asked, though not quite sure if she should.

" _You have all the say, Miss Granger._ "

Frowning, Hermione turned that conflicting statement over in her head. " _But you said–_ "

" _That you don't get to pick a house of your liking. Your choices and behaviour in life say everything for you._ "

" _But what if I want to change? It hardly seems fair to set someone on a course for their entire life when they're eleven._ "

Unhesitatingly, the hat shot that down. " _I can only put you where you most belong, not where you would like to belong. But I'm glad you bring that up. You, Miss Granger, have an overdeveloped belief in fairness and justice, in the rule of law. I suppose if you don't revolt, that's only natural after being sent home from school crying after yet another day of torment again and again._ "

" _It was hardly that bad,_ " Hermione said weakly, trying to defend herself.

" _Objectively? No. But to a child? I can see your memories, Miss Granger. You can lie to yourself, but not to me._ "

" _O-okay. But those are Gryffindor traits–_ "

Cutting her off, the Sorting Hat said, " _Gryffindors have a strong moral centre and the determination to see justice done themselves. While you have the former,_ you _like_ order _. You wish to see just rules in place and want everyone to simply abide by them and live peacefully, but you recognise the need for appropriate measures to be in place to be taken against those you find legally deviant. If you ever find them, you believe you will be fiercely loyal to whatever friends you hold close, specifically citing similar traits in your parents as evidence. Those are not Gryffindor traits; those are Hufflepuff traits._ "

Hermione sat stunned for a second or two. The hat was kind enough to keep quiet as the shock set in and she tried to understand exactly what had happened to bring the Sorting Hat to that conclusion.

More gently now, the Sorting Hat said, " _Hufflepuff is not a lesser house despite its reputation for 'taking the rest'. You know that._ "

" _Yes, but… I don't… I don't think I'd…be welcomed there._ " Hermione fidgeted worriedly beneath the Sorting Hat. " _I'm not – everyone says I'm bossy. And I spend more time reading books than socialising. I like books. I don't want that to change…_ "

" _Yes, Rowena would have been ecstatic to have you, if she wouldn't be too busy fighting Salazar over you while Helga snatched you up._ "

" _Slytherin? But–_ "

" _You're muggleborn? The literal meaning hasn't changed, but being muggleborn meant something very different in his time._ "

Confused, Hermione asked, " _What do you mean?_ "

" _You have strong Ravenclaw traits, Miss Granger. I'm sure you'll figure it out. Regardless, Salazar would have had his work cut out with you. You do not belong in Slytherin. Despite how much you wish to change Magical Britain, even after having only seen it on occasion since you turned eleven, Slytherin is not where you will thrive._ "

Hermione snorted, miffed at the abject dismissal, but she let it go. Slytherin _was_ not for her, after all.

" _Now, you_ have _brought up a good point. You may have strong Hufflepuff traits, perhaps even more so than your Ravenclaw ones, but I suspect that is not where you will flourish. Hufflepuff would eagerly welcome you as a mentor figure. You'd almost certainly find the kind of friendship and support there that's been lacking in your life, but that's not what you want. It would balance you but not compel you. Hufflepuff would, in fact, actively prevent you from achieving your goals for yourself, if perhaps not your aspirations for Magical Britain._ "

" _So Ravenclaw, then_ ," Hermione said almost mournfully. What the Sorting Hat had described – Hermione could not deny that it sounded nice. If nothing else, she would be appreciated and respected there.

" _Perhaps. I would accept arguments either way; however, we have one last house to analyse first. We must be thorough, after all. It wouldn't do for you to set me on fire._ "

Hermione did her best to mentally glare at the Sorting Hat, but she only got a strange sense of amusement in return.

" _Despite your social troubles, I do see a great deal of empathy in you, along with a stubbornness that would make even Godric tell you to let things go._ "

" _Was that supposed to be a compliment?_ " Hermione growled, still irked.

" _At times it can be. You're not especially courageous, judging by your response to your past experiences with bullying. Or perhaps you're simply unwilling to violate your sense of right and wrong by retaliating, but then that too can be a type of bravery._ "

Sighing, Hermione fully resigned herself to Ravenclaw now. The Sorting Hat was obviously reaching to identify Gryffindor traits in her. She had hoped she could go there, but Ravenclaw would work, too. It would be fine. She would survive. Everything would be fine.

" _Hmm… Oh? What's this?_ "

Curious, Hermione asked, " _What's what?_ "

" _As I said, Miss Granger, you can lie to yourself, but not to me. Tell me, what are your favourite novels?_ "

* * *

"I'm really fine," Hermione said to the person she really hoped was the one the Sorting Hat had promised she would eventually find. How it knew with such absolute certainty that she would find him or her, Hermione had not the least idea, but in this case, she hardly cared. Far more importantly, she had been, until recently, beginning to worry it would turn out to be Daphne instead. The Mirror of Erised suggested he was, but she had no idea how the mirror worked. If it responded only to her own opinion on the matter, then it could only have restated her own conclusion.

"Really?" the best friend asked, although it helped Hermione's self-esteem to think in more romanticised terms. He was the friendly rival, the other half of a positive feedback loop forever forcing them both to improve, the confidant, the one who would walk with her on a grand adventure, the person she could always trust to have her back in any circumstances, the wizard who served as her foil just as she served as his.

"Yes, Harry, really." It hurt to think that so much of herself was wrapped up in someone else, especially someone who only very recently properly came into existence. Her heart's desire should be becoming a world-famous researcher, or a great sociopolitical reformer, or _something_. But that damnable hat had been right. Hermione very much did want this – all of it, up to and including future hardship and suffering, though she could stand for Harry to worry her less often.

It also helped that all that would probably happen _anyway_ with the way things were going, but it was the principle of the matter.

"I'm going to be in your head soon, remember," Harry said half warningly and half teasingly.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione said, "I'm fine, Harry. It really is nothing. It's just…deeply personal."

That struck a chord with Harry, who no doubt very much understood the feeling of never wanting to talk about something with anyone ever. Hermione silently cursed the Dursleys to satisfy her worrying urge and kept herself from thinking about all the horrible things they might have done to him when he was younger.

Hermione and Harry silently finished what was left of their scones as they looked out over the lake. The sun was still low in the sky and painted a tapestry of colours in the clouds above. The soft light over the lake created a shimmering effect without being blinding, and off in the distance, Hermione could see a few selkies playfully teasing the giant squid near the surface. On occasion, the squid would flip them up into the air with a tentacle, and they would laugh the whole journey.

"When did you find this place, Harry?" It fell short of idyllic, but there was a certain undeniable sense of ease or comfort here.

"First year when the rest of Gryffindor wouldn't talk to us. The sunset is best on the bridge to the Owlery, I think, and the boys' staircase has a nice view of the moon and stars, but the sunrise is best here."

"Please tell me you're sleeping properly, Harry."

Harry shook his head, smiling, and said, "Only you would jump to that before anything else. I am, though, and especially so since you taught me the silencing charm. I'm just an early riser by habit."

 _A habit that was probably forced onto you._ Hermione kept her comment to herself.

"But I do usually wait for Ron to wake up before heading down to find you at breakfast. He's not a morning person."

"Alright. Just so long as you stay healthy between infirmary visits." Harry laughed at that, and Hermione asked, "You wouldn't happen to have any pumpkin juice, would you? Or orange juice, if they have it today?"

"No, sorry. Do you want to head inside?"

"Hmm… No, I'll suffer through it," Hermione concluded. "I'd like to enjoy these moments when I can."

"Without a book?"

Hermione nudged Harry with her elbow.

"What?" Harry said, feigning innocence. "You're usually reading when Ron and I show up in the Great Hall."

Hermione shot Harry a questioning look. "Would you prefer I eat like a pig all morning?"

"No. No, I'd prefer you keep that to the part of the morning when I'm not around."

"Prat."

"You make it too easy."

Seeing her own opening, Hermione said, "Then I suppose Malfoy makes it hard? Where's all this when he's around?"

Clearly annoyed with merely his memories of Malfoy, not even the wizard himself, Harry bit out, "He doesn't give me anything to work with. It's always straight up insults and racial slurs. What am I supposed to do with that?"

Hermione shrugged. She did her best to keep up with Harry, but trading witticisms was not a well-developed skill for her. Until Hogwarts, she had very little to say to anyone besides her professors and her parents. _Harry and Mum will get along wonderfully, though._

"Well, regardless," Hermione said, "you might be interested to note that I haven't been reading _every_ morning anymore."

"Oh?"

"I blame you, you know. I hadn't picked up a violin in over a year. My piano would be gathering dust, too, if Mum and Dad didn't use it. I kind of forgot how much fun it is to play."

"Then why did you stop?"

Hermione turned to look at Harry, and he picked up on it immediately. "Don't take it the wrong way," she said before he could do something silly like apologise. "There's only a choir at Hogwarts, and magic is far more interesting. I probably would have put my violin down soon enough even without nighttime excursions and research projects keeping me busy."

"I still feel bad."

"You shouldn't."

"Even so." Harry leaned back, humming thoughtfully. "Would you like an audience?"

Shrugging, Hermione said, "I'd prefer accompaniment." Professor Flitwick, who lead Hogwarts's Frog Choir, had a very limited supply of solo pieces suitable for the violin. She would have to remember to divest a few music stores of their sheet music over the summer.

"All I play is the recorder, and I'm rubbish at it."

Giggling, Hermione said, "Who isn't? We could always stick you on drums. Or the tambourine. Or maybe the triangle."

Hermione felt a strange sensation in her side. It took her a few seconds to realise that Harry had just nudged her back for once. In fact, come to think of it, he'd done so yesterday in the library, too. Smiling, positively beaming, Hermione offered up a real suggestion.

"You could always try the tin whistle. It's like a recorder but actually something you can enjoy listening to."

"Maybe," Harry said skeptically, dragging the word out for a terribly long time.

"It'd be a good choice. I'm more of a fiddler than a violinist, you know. I mostly know folk music, where the tin whistle shines."

"Really?" Harry quickly added, "The folk music, I mean. I wouldn't have taken you for the type."

Sighing and letting her shoulders slump, Hermione said, "It's a long story."

"No, no. You can't stop there."

Hermione bit her lip as she briefly debated with herself whether she should say anything. In the end, she went with, "Do you promise not to laugh?"

"I'll try my best."

Hermione hummed angrily, but she let Harry's response go. "When I was really young, Mum and Dad were still trying to figure me out. They tried all the usual little girl things, like ballet."

"Did you play a tree?"

"I did not!" Hermione said indignantly. That was, without mentioning that she had, in fact, played a swan, which was little better. "They pulled me from all that when they realised it was making me miserable, although I did keep the soft toys. I have this otter that's still larger than me, and it's–"

Noticing that Harry was struggling not to laugh, Hermione said, "Nevermind. I didn't like ballet, but the few times they let us just dance…weren't so bad. Anyway, Mum's parents are from Scotland, and Dad's Mum is from Northern Ireland. Thankfully, they both grew out of their accents, or who knows what kind of mess I'd be."

"I can only imagine."

"When I was…seven, I think, Mum and Dad both started sharing my cultural heritage with me. They both love dancing, particularly folk dances, and I got pulled in with them."

"You dance?"

"Not very often, but well enough to not embarrass myself. The only formal dance I know is the waltz, though. And don't _ever_ ask me to tango." Hermione's hands shot to her face, and she curled up into a ball as she recalled dance lessons she would much rather memory charm away. "Urgh! I'd never been so embarrassed in my life. The body isn't meant to move like that!"

"I think a few million people would disagree with you there."

" _Anyway_ ," Hermione said, "I'd already been started on the piano by then, but I picked up the violin on a more casual basis. Mum and Dad really enjoyed when I played folk for them, and there you go."

"Hmm…"

Uncurling herself, Hermione looked at Harry. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

* * *

Minerva McGonagall did her absolute best not to have favourite students. Let alone that she was the Deputy Headmistress, it wouldn't do for _any_ Hogwarts professor to show special favour to one student over any other. Of course, there was the headache that was Severus Snape, but at least he was professional when no students were around. That that was entirely the opposite of what one might hope for, Minerva tried to ignore.

On her way up to the staff office for their usual morning meeting, Minerva ran into the most curious sight of Filius standing atop a conjured rock in the stairwell and gazing out a window.

"Good morning, Filius. May I ask what's so interesting today?"

Chuckling, Filius said, "There's a bit of a performance this morning." He levitated both himself and his rock to the side and gestured for Minerva to take a look herself.

After shifting into place beside Filius, Minerva searched the view outside the window until she found what he was referring to. Out over the lake she spied a small herd of selkies near the shoreline leaping out of the water in time to some unheard rhythm.

"That is unusual," Minerva said. "I sometimes see the selkies come onto or near the shores to play with the students, but it's been some time since I've last seen them dancing."

"Not since we were both young schoolchildren ourselves, I should think. Celestina Warbeck formed quite the movement back then."

Groaning at the pun, Minerva said, "Her mother's frequent howlers helped, I suspect. I'm not sure if I should be praising her memory or condemning it."

Filius sent a grin Minerva's way. "Considering I currently conduct the resulting Frog Choir, I should hope it's praising."

Far from the watchful gazes of the students, Minerva indulged in an eyeroll.

"Regardless," Filius said, "the selkies are only half the show. If I may?"

Filius held out his wand, and Minerva waved her hand to tell him to proceed. Slowly, she heard more and more sounds, although for the most part, they remained muffled and echoey. Hogwarts did not carry sound well. From the window, however, Minerva picked out a Scottish jig over the background noise.

 _No, that's of Celtic origin. It's been…what is it now? Five decades since I've heard that song? It's always the memory first with age, isn't it?_

All of a sudden, the music ceased. Minerva frowned, rather miffed that it'd stopped just when it was about to reach her favourite part. But then, after perhaps ten seconds of trying to pick the song out again, it restarted from the beginning.

"Who's playing?" Minerva asked. "If you know."

Filius pointed a bit down and to the left of where the selkies were dancing. "My stray ravens."

 _Ravens? Plural?_ Minerva searched about the shoreline for the familiar sight of – if she were being honest – her favourite lioness. Brown and black were not the easiest to spot against the ground, but not impossible. "Miss Granger and…Mr. Potter? You're trying to lay a claim over him too now?"

Filius smiled, showing off his teeth, but after so many years teaching together, Minerva was far from intimidated. "Oh, yes. Miss Granger has gotten to him, I think."

Nodding and turning back to the window, Minerva said, "Very much so."

"That sounds like you have inside information."

"Perhaps," Minerva said as mysteriously as possible. For a few seconds, she and Filius simply watched the sight of a far off Hermione Granger and Harry Potter dancing a jig together. From the look of it, Miss Granger was the instructor, and Mr. Potter was struggling to keep up, even with the former occupied with her fiddle.

"Ten galleons on fourth year," Filius said.

"Fifty on betrothed before they graduate."

"Tch. I need to change my bet, then."

"Don't bankrupt my lions," Minerva said. "They give me no end of headaches, but they're still mine."

Filius hopped off his rock before banishing it from existence. Up a few steps from her, he looked her in the eyes and raised his brows. "And what do you call fifty galleons at what odds?"

"A lesson that gambling is wrong without simply driving them underground."

Letting out his usual high-pitched bark of laughter, Filius lead the way up the rest of the stairs. The staff meeting room was located in the very centre of Hogwarts, equally accessible from every professor's office, excepting Sybill, who lived at the top of her tower and refused to move to a more convenient location. Inside was nothing more than a round table big enough for all the professors to sit at comfortably, although on occasion, when a staff meeting ran long, the Hogwarts elves would bring breakfast up to them.

Today, Albus had beaten them to the room, along with Severus and Pomona. Curiously enough, however, an unexpected guest had joined them. The scarred, grey-haired, one-eyed, unstoppable warrior of a man already had his wand trained on both Minerva and Filius while his false eye presumably searched them for only the maddeningly paranoid knew what.

"Good morning, Alastor," Minerva said. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Ah, Minerva, Filius," Albus began, "I have some good news. After some…negotiations, Alastor has promised to fill the defence position next year if we can't find anyone else."

Minerva kept her face as expressionless as she could. It was good news, after all. Defence professors were hard enough to find, and _good_ defence professors were rare gems to be treasured.

 _I hope no one gets seriously injured…_

* * *

 **A/N:** Originally, this was intended to be a distilled Harmony one-shot, but I also had an outline for a much longer version of the story floating around that I've extensively refined, and I couldn't not write it while I was dead for a year. I'll be changing the title from _A Conversation Atop the Astronomy Tower_ to a more relevant _Harry and Hermione Starring in: The Digital Revolution_. For those of you who will wonder, they're both starting out as kids in 1993, so it'll take a while before the theme becomes _blatantly obvious_ in the story, but more subtle topics have already and will appear before then.

At any rate, I have everything out to the end of the first act written and mostly done (and more roughly to the end of the summer), so updates will be fairly regular until then, probably once every fortnight or so.

And since it's already been brought up with me more than once, if you look at my favourite HP stories, the overwhelming majority are harmony stories. You can expect the same here. Other pairings will come as they come.


	5. The End of Term

**A/N:** JKR owns Harry Potter.

Also, a brief reminder. This story was previously called _A Conversation Atop the Astronomy Tower_.

* * *

Act One - Best Friends  
Chapter Five - The End of Term

Deep within Hogwarts, a door opened all on its own just enough for someone to squeeze through. A moment passed, and it closed without a sound.

 _Right then,_ Harry thought to himself. _I have a couple hours before the DMLE shows up. That's plenty of time._

Harry regarded the repurposed classroom before him. The chairs were stacked and out of the way for the most part, only a few escaping imprisonment and arranged conveniently where they would see the most use. The desks had moved into small islands to give him space to work. A heap of crumpled parchment filled a corner and flooded the nearby floor, a monument to both practice making perfect and the startling fact that parchment actually had more function than mere paper.

Quills were still antiquated rubbish until proven otherwise, however.

It was official now. The thought was somewhat alarming, but it also made Harry laugh. Hermione had ruined him as he and Ron had her. She had her own secret project that had a tendency to explode in her face, and now he did, too. He'd flown right past the more humble swot into the full monty of a mad scientist.

Harry kicked a few discarded balls of parchment away from his workstation into the corner, one of which bounced off and rolled back to be kicked away again.

 _Point in fact,_ Harry said to himself. Kicking away a piece of parchment that might be – but probably was not – unstable hardly demonstrated good lab safety. _Need to work on my maniacal laughter. Get Hermione to work on her cackle._ He hummed to himself. _Need to look up some stock phrases, too. I can only shout, 'It's alive!' so many times before it becomes unfashionable._

As Harry went about gathering parchment and quill, he deliberately ignored niggling thoughts concerning the worst part of all this: Hermione was going to find out. He wanted to tell her and put her brain to work, of course. And yet at the same time, he was really, _really_ not looking forward to that moment. He could just picture her now. That smug expression and conceited attitude telling him she told him so – after her having to bribe him, guilt trip him, craft an intricate argument, hug him, and practically beg him to take school seriously, living with her would be insufferable when she learnt the truth.

"Stupid runes," Harry mumbled to himself.

From his robe pocket, Harry withdrew a small tablet of sandstone. There were far better materials to work with. Parchment and ink worked well enough for quick and basic practice, while blood supposedly paired well with just about everything. Stone and chisel, however, yielded a durable product capable of holding a decent amount of magic.

Harry placed his tablet atop his workstation. He tapped his wand to it, pushed a little magic forward, and within his windowless workshop, there was light.

A grin lit up Harry's face. An embarrassingly large part of him was tempted to play with his first somewhat useful, working enchantment; flipping a light switch on and off should never bring so much unadulterated bliss.

 _I'm so doomed._

It was true. Unlike everything else about magic, which almost made sense if one squinted hard enough and shrugged often enough, runes pierced the veil of insanity and crossed into the realm of order. Where in potions seemingly random ingredients produced a sort of related effect, the rune for light made light. The rune for water made water. A runic array to detect something connected to the rune for fire detected fire.

And there were so many _possibilities_. Harry could barely imagine what he might be able to do after finally finishing _just_ next year's runes textbook.

But that was the past. It was old news. It was time to look to the future, the glorious, marvellous future.

Harry flipped open his borrowed book on runes to where he'd left off. There were three ways to power an enchantment: manually, with a battery, and passively. The light on his workstation had a battery he manually filled with magic. Now, it was time and past time to graduate from the simpler forms to make something truly inspired. He transfigured a small pile of paper and a pencil for scratch work and got to work.

Magic, as it turned out, functioned something vaguely like electricity or diffusion. It liked to move from high concentrations to low concentrations to reach a uniform distribution. The trick with runes was in forcing magic into a certain form, a certain shape. A wand did much the same, just requiring _a lot_ less work in advance of the actual spell being cast.

On the plus side, though, once runes were carved, they were carved. It was unnecessary to recreate them for later use. That was something. There were no incantations to memorise, either.

Harry flipped the page of his book, his brow furrowed in concentration. Throwing magic at a cluster of runes with a wand was the simplest way to provide power to them. It was both wasteful and annoying. Next came the magical equivalent of a battery. The exact details of the mechanics were beyond Harry right now, but he could copy and paste with the best of them. A battery could take in, store, and release magic, each rate of which could be calibrated as necessary – or as _required_. Harry had learnt a valuable lesson about overpowering rune-based spells, and his eyebrows had paid the price.

While those two forms had their uses, it was the last to which Harry turned his attention: passive absorption. One could pull in ambient magic, concentrate it, store it if needed, and release it through a series of well over a hundred interconnected runes that went _way_ beyond his understanding. The more ambient magic present, the more magic that was captured. Being able to passively generate power was simply brilliant, but there was an entirely different way of rephrasing that which was even more brilliant and elegant in its simplicity.

And Harry had a brilliant idea.

* * *

 _Two plus three is five. Six plus eight is fourteen._

Perfectly still, eyes closed, Hermione sat solving random, simple addition problems in her head.

 _Nine plus one is ten. One plus seven is eight._

The world consisted entirely of Hermione and her numbers.

 _Nine plus seven is sixteen. Three plus three is six._

As soon as it came, Hermione shut down the urge to itch her arm. Or at least she did her best to put it out of mind.

 _Four plus five is nine. Two plus six is eight._

Hermione had tried working on her occlumency exercises before abandoning them for legilimency. She truly had given it her best effort. But if Harry was absolutely pants at occlumency, as he so considered himself, then Hermione was abysmal. For the life of her, she could not clear her mind. It just kept going and going from one thought to the next. Emotional calm was perfectly doable, but asking for a silent mind on top of that was too much, and her continued failures only drove her spare.

 _Seven plus seven is fourteen. Six plus Six is twelve._

On the other hand, Hermione was pretty sure she was shaping up to be at least a decent legilimens. Granted she still needed to practice for real, but she was going through exercises to improve her focus faster than she could find them.

Two plus one is three. Six plus Two is eight.

Not that Hermione was terribly surprised. She'd always been able to concentrate on her current task to the exclusion of all else to the point where it was hard to get her attention. Harry and his trigger-happy fingers would no doubt love to testify to that fact. It was that mental discipline, apparently, which made for a good legilimens.

 _Three plus nine is twelve. Six plus four is ten._

With as tedious as the task was, Hermione had to admit there was a certain challenge in forcing her mind not to wander, especially so in the courtyard where students tended to congregate in late spring. Sometimes it was hard not to eavesdrop.

 _Four plus two is–_

The sound of a small bell rang out, heard despite the rather loud background chatter of the courtyard. Hermione opened her eyes and glanced down at her recently charmed watch; exactly fifteen minutes had passed. Picking it up, she replaced it on her wrist and pulled on the new knob to deactivate the alarm.

Only yesterday, Hermione had gone to Professor Flitwick asking after the alarm charm used on Hogwarts's beds, seeing as it was a bit more involved than Hermione felt comfortable casting herself. This turned out to be the right decision, since he told her that charms and enchantments had a bad tendency to break or otherwise disable delicate mechanical objects. One needed an almost machine like precision to interface magic and technology, even with something as relatively simple as a watch. She supposed that was why muggleborn had yet to flood the market with magical versions of mundane objects.

In hindsight, Mr. Weasley's flying car might be a sign of mad brilliance, as strange as that sounded. Despite its _numerous_ magical modifications, it did still function as a regular vehicle, after all. Maybe that was where the Weasley twins got their poorly utilised genius from, although in frivolous potions rather than charms.

Now done with her routine exercise, Hermione finally let herself relax. At the moment, that meant a very unladylike furious scratching of every itch that had gone unattended. Who cared if she got weird looks from the people nearby; it had to be done.

"Ahhhh…" Hermione sighed contentedly. _That's much better._ Stretching, she cast her gaze outward and saw a pair of aurors walking down the hallway toward the stairs up to the first floor. _Oh, yeah. It's Thursday. I wonder if Lady Bones would let me see the Chamber of Secrets if I asked. I wouldn't be surprised if she sealed it off afterwards to preserve the crime scene slash archaeological site. If I'm lucky, I could find some primary source documents to stuff down the Sorting Hat's…um… Hmm, my hat-based vocabulary is lacking._

Shrugging to herself, Hermione figured that there was no harm in asking. The worst that could happen would be a firm scolding and being sent on her way. She cast a charm to waterproof her bookbag, swung it on over her shoulder, and set off.

Into the castle and down the hall, Hermione found her way to the ground floor staircase. As was often the case, the stairs were nice enough to rotate to the landing she needed. She was sure they were enchanted to somehow know which way she wanted to go, but she had yet to find a spell even remotely similar in the library. Ron – and Harry especially – loved to complain that it was the stairs' fault whenever they were late to class, but they were _obviously_ just trying to shift the blame for their own lack of punctuality. It was never a problem when she was with those two whiners.

Well, to be fair, there were times when Hogwarts was less than cooperative and sometimes made Hermione want to tear her hair out trying to understand it. The first room she'd tried to carve wands in had vanished into nonexistence the next day. But Hogwarts was never so bad that it made her late to something.

Now was a perfect example. It took but a minute to arrive at Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, which had a single auror standing watch at the doorway. Approaching him, Hermione asked, "Excuse me. Would Lady Bones be available for a moment?"

The auror looked down at Hermione, his face not betraying the slightest hint of his thoughts. It was really rather unnerving, and Hermione had to wonder if he was perhaps a former unspeakable.

"If you need to speak with the chief, make an appointment at the ministry." The auror paused to think for a moment. "Or if this is a personal call, I suppose you can wait inside with the others and try to catch her after today's investigation is over."

 _Well, that's better than nothing._ "More the latter." After the auror nodded and let her pass, Hermione said, "Thank you."

When Hermione entered the bathroom, the first thing she noticed was the gaping hole in the middle of the room that plummeted down into darkness. Unlike what Harry had reported about his latest misadventure, the shaft looked perfectly clean without the slightest hint of slime.

The second thing Hermione noticed was a trio of familiar faces. There was Susan talking animatedly with Tonks – Nymphadora, specifically – who was wearing robes reminiscent of an auror uniform, but the badge was noticeably missing. More curiously, the metamorphmagus had apparently decided to literally talk on Susan's level, having shrunk herself to the size of a thirteen-year-old. The bubblegum pink hair remained as usual, though.

And then there was a morose-looking Harry slumped against a wall with his forehead on his knees.

"Good afternoon," Hermione said, greeting everyone.

"Wotcher, Hermione," said Tonks.

"Oh, hello," Susan said, turning her head to actually have Hermione in her field of vision.

"Hey," Harry said glumly. He sat still, not bothering to so much as halfheartedly wave a hand. It would be such a heartwrenching sight if there were an _actual_ cause.

Hermione chuckled. "Let me guess. Lady Bones only takes you down when they find a sealed passage?"

Harry only groaned, but Tonks answered for him. "You've got the right of it. The chief has me on babysitting duty." That got Harry to actually lift his head, if only to let it drop onto his knees again.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione began, fighting off another case of the giggles. "What did you expect? The police don't take civilians into danger, much less children."

"We would be right awful bobbies if we did," Tonks said, nodding her head, "even if it _was_ you who killed that monster."

 _Monster, hmm…_ "Harry has described it to me, but I haven't seen the basilisk yet. Well, not that I can remember. How bad is it?"

Susan shrugged, turning to look at Tonks. "I haven't been down, either."

Speaking with her usual irreverent tone – so generalised from meeting her all of three times now – Tonks said, "Yeah, pretty sure I'd have died if it'd been me. That damn Mad-Eye has me training till I'm knackered every day, and I still wouldn't want to fight something so magically resistant. Add in the length, the darkness, and that you can't bloody look at it, and that's me in a right mess. But you really have to see the thing to do it justice."

"What an oxymoron," Susan said, drawing a smile and a laugh from the other two girls. Harry was no more amused by the quip than he was about being left out of the 'fun'.

"How long have you three been waiting here now?"

"Three. Hours," Harry moaned. If it really had been that long, Hermione supposed she could give him a pass for being bored out of his mind.

"Has it been?" Susan asked, her surprise evident on her face. "I met Aunt Amelia at breakfast, but it hasn't felt that long."

Tonks smirked and said, "Time flies when you're having fun. Isn't that right, Cuz?"

"I hate you, too, Nympha – ow!"

Being kicked in the hip, Harry actually uncurled from the little ball he was in. He rubbed the afflicted area and glared at Tonks, but really, what had he expected to happen? Her response to her name was fairly predictable, at least to non-coworkers. Hermione had a hard time believing that kind of behaviour would be tolerated internally in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Inserting herself in-between Harry and Tonks, Hermione turned to the latter and asked, "So how have you been since we last saw you, Tonks?" Everyone noticed the slight emphasis she put on 'Tonks'.

"Eh, could be worse. Studied a bit over the year, applied to the job, took the screening test, and Bob's your uncle – got into the auror program. But I got Mad-Eye for a combat mentor. The man is ridiculously paranoid; I've had to memorise an absurd number of _personal_ contingency plans he has just for _himself_ , and I've had to come up with my own, let alone the insanity he calls combat practice. Luckily, you'll be spared meeting him. Dumbledore called him away earlier today for something, so here I am with on-the-job 'training'."

Susan looked at Tonks with a deeply pitying gaze. "At least you'll be well prepared. Most aurors don't make it to a natural retirement due to injuries, but you're his last responsibility before he's forced to retire. He's _very_ good at investigating and duelling, and he's still alive and mostly intact."

After a dry laugh, Tonks said, "He would take that as an insult, you know. 'Duelling is for fools', after all, and the injuries are the 'mistakes of his youth'. But like I said, it could be worse. My mentor could be Dawlish, the brown-noser. With how far that man has his nose up the minster's arse, you'd think he'd smell like shite."

"Language," Hermione said more out of habit with Ron than anything else. It was a futile effort to get Tonks to filter her words.

"Kid, don't make me arrest you for interfering with an auror investigation."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Susan just laughed quietly to herself.

"Anyway, Harry here tells me you and he have been getting into trouble again this year."

"That's not exactly how I put it," Harry said.

"Close enough." Tonks waved a hand dismissively in Harry's direction before asking, "So now that we have more than twenty minutes together to meet-and-greet, you can fill me in on everything. What's going on with you two that Harry doesn't want me to know?"

"Hey!"

Heedless of Harry's protest, Tonks continued, "Any kissing stories yet?"

"No," Harry said, but Hermione hummed thoughtfully, smirking.

"Oh? Do tell." Tonks obviously missed the very embarrassed look that Susan had on her face, although Harry hid his thoughts well enough that a casual inspection would reveal nothing. One really had to know him to tell.

"I have my suspicions, but I hardly think it's anything serious – probably just a thank you kiss on the cheek. Teasing material only, I believe."

"Who?"

Hermione placed an index finger on her cheek, tapping it thoughtfully. "Hmm, I wonder if I should…"

Fortunately for Harry and Susan, the faint but audible sound of Lady Bones and Headmaster Dumbledore chatting faded into existence, echoing up from the chamber below. Tonks scowled momentarily but quickly adopted as professional a manner as one could ever expect on her. The hot pink hair ruined the image before she could even get started, really, but at least she was her usual height and age again.

"–at least see the diary, Albus. I know very well when something is not to be spoken of, but this is not one of those times."

Hermione tried not to let her eye twitch at the idea of hiding knowledge _too_ much.

"Every time Malfoy has to bribe his way out of trouble, it drains his coffers. Eventually, something will stick, or he'll back off. It's the only _legal_ means we have of tearing down their power bloc, Albus. You _must_ see that."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione felt a little uneasy with the stress Lady Bones, who was essentially the magical police commissioner _and_ a member of the magical House of Lords, put on the word 'legal'. She had no idea what meaning to take away from that, only that it most likely was not a good sign of things to come. Not that there were many good signs to spoil recently.

The headmaster's voice drifted up after a likely reflective silence. "You've been reading last year's muggle newspapers, haven't you?"

"Of course I have! We're in the same deadlock, except we don't have the monetary or material resources to outspend the Death Eaters like the States did to the Soviets."

If Hermione had any doubt left that Daphne's claim about the ministry's funding was spot on, it'd have all up and left right then and there. An entire government being unable to outspent a collection of wealthy rebels was a joke, even if those rebels had put legal blocks in place.

"It wasn't that simple, Amelia."

"That doesn't change my point. We _need_ to get them to hurt themselves financially. There's no other way around it. I have no idea what Malfoy expected to gain from this mess that he couldn't obtain elsewhere and quietly, but if we let him keep trying unchecked, he'll eventually get it. Unless you'll finally–"

"Amelia," Headmaster Dumbledore interrupted, "you've suggested that before, and my answer is still no. If it's at all possible to avert, we must. Our world cannot afford such a heavy blow. Even the muggle world hasn't done that in centuries, and for good reason. I understand how you must feel about–"

"You know nothing of the sort!" Lady Bones snapped. Her voice echoed loud and clear, no doubt even reaching the hallway outside the bathroom.

The two fell quiet for a few seconds before Headmaster Dumbledore could once again be heard. "Where would you even find the support? The Wizengamot is split, and the populace simply wishes to forget. My position only goes so far."

"Something _has_ to be done, Albus. I refuse to fight the same war twice."

"I agree that something must be done, Amelia. Truly. But we must find an alternative response. Just the other day, I had two students bring their concerns to me on a related matter. _Students_ , Amelia. Our children are beginning to notice."

There was a prolonged silence broken only by the sound of footsteps and the clatter of displaced pebbles. Hermione had to wonder what exactly Lady Bones had been proposing, but she was sure she would rather not know after she found out. Rebelling armies in the muggle world centuries ago tended to meet less than savoury fates when they lost, if not always simply death.

A spell was cast, although Hermione was unable to hear the incantation clearly, and both the headmaster and Lady Bones appeared in the tunnel rising upward quickly before coming to a fast halt. They floated there in midair for a moment and then stepped forward onto solid ground.

"I still need to see the diary, Albus. I won't take it, but I _must_ see it myself if for no other reason than to ensure no charges stick to Miss Weasley."

Headmaster Dumbledore sighed. "As you wish. Come to my office when your investigation is finished." It was only then that he looked in Hermione's direction. "Ah, Miss Granger. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Feeling a little childish after the heavy conversation she'd just overheard, Hermione felt a small blush creep onto her face. "I just wanted to see the chamber later today when the all clear is given, if possible."

A smile displaced the tired look the headmaster so often sported recently. He chuckled briefly before saying, "I don't see why not. We came back up for Harry, but I wouldn't be averse to a little more company. Miss Bones?"

Susan deliberated for a moment, but in the end, curiosity won out as it almost always did. "If that's okay with you, Aunt Amelia?"

"I suppose it's fine. Tonks, keep an eye on the kids."

"Yes, Sir!" Tonks said, snapping to attention with perhaps a bit too much zeal.

"Miss Granger," Lady Bones said, "I hope I don't need to tell you to stay close to Tonks and not to touch anything." Hermione shook her head. "Good. Then let's get going. I'm getting sick of wading through these tunnels."

The six of them stepped into the pipe – Hermione with a bit of encouragement that no, she would not plummet to her death – before descending rapidly down. If anyone asked her, Hermione would utterly deny that she let out a strangled scream.

Once at the bottom, Lady Bones led them through a surprisingly tidy passageway. With how Harry had described it and with how old it was, Hermione would have guessed it to be in much worse shape. _But then Harry said part of the tunnel caved in. It'd be unsafe not to rebuild it properly._

Eventually, the group arrived at a large, circular portal, although the door was missing at the moment.

"Watch your step," Lady Bones said just as Hermione felt her foot sink a few centimetres further down into water than expected. The water flooding the chamber was surprisingly clear and warm, and there were bright wisps spread about seemingly at random filling the chamber with light.

Hermione might have commented that the giant snake head statues were a bit much, or she might have noticed the gigantic bust of Salazar Slytherin at the far end of the chamber, or she might have questioned the need to have such an elaborate _and long_ hallway leading to the chamber proper, but there was something rather more attention grabbing in front of her.

"That's…a bit bigger than I was imagining," Hermione said, reining in her simultaneous desires to one, run away screaming; two, cast the most dangerous spells she knew; three, just plain screaming; and four, smacking Harry upside the head for thinking it was a good idea for him to come down here the first time.

"Told ya you have to see it for yourself." Tonks put a hand on Hermione's shoulder, which while appreciated, was unnecessary. Once the initial shock was gone, the basilisk was no worse than a really big statue – a really, really, unnerving one, granted, but still just a statue.

Not too far away, Susan was getting a similar treatment from her aunt.

 _Focus, Hermione. It's just a snake._ "What's going to happen to the basilisk? Is it useful for anything?"

Headmaster Dumbledore picked up that question. "The venom has its applications, Miss Granger, particularly as potion ingredients. The eyes, if undamaged, can be preserved for a time with their killing gaze intact, much like a gorgon's, although the gorgon's gaze, as I'm sure you know, only ever turns the beholder to stone. The hide is highly resistant to magic, which is useful in the construction of an area in which you wish no magic to enter or leave, but if you're willing to endure the expense, dragonhide is equally effective and far more plentiful. The meat is venomous to every known species, and legend holds that it possesses an unsavoury taste."

Nodding her agreement, Hermione said, "Poisonous species usually have a vile taste so that predators learn not to eat them. Humans are really the only animals that…"

Hearing Harry laughing quietly to himself, Hermione noticed him stepping her way with fingers drawn. She cut herself off then and there to avoid another finger snap in her face.

"Um, nevermind."

"Quite alright, Miss Granger," Headmaster Dumbledore said, smiling all the while. "Now as to what we will do with it, I confess I haven't given it much thought. It might be best simply to leave it here in case the basilisk has an unusual interaction with Hogwarts's wards. I shall have to ruminate on the matter tonight."

Hermione shrugged, letting the issue go. She'd only been curious to begin with; there were no plans forming in her head to use the basilisk for something herself, and she doubted Harry had any particular use for it.

"Now then," Headmaster Dumbledore said, their group having moved into the chamber proper, "before we let you three wander, we have one last passageway we need to investigate." He gestured toward the still far off bust of Slytherin where a dozen aurors were waiting with wands drawn, shields raised, and who knew what else. "If you would do the honours, Harry."

Nodding, Harry shouted a strangled hissing sound that sent shivers down Hermione's spine. It echoed around the chamber, which only enhanced the eerie effect. If she were to compare the feeling to something mundane, it was almost like listening to a waterphone in a dark bathroom.

Everyone waited for Slytherin's mouth to open, except perhaps for Susan, who might not have heard the story yet. But all that happened was the occasional sound of water swishing about.

Deciding to state the obvious, Hermione asked, "Harry, what did Quirrelmort–" She paused a moment at the smothered snorting coming from Lady Bones. It occurred to her that that particular moniker should be for private use only, given that it made a connection that was not public knowledge. "What did he say to…uh…open, I guess, the bust?"

"Something about talking to Slytherin," Harry said before descending into mumbles. To be entirely fair, it'd been nearly a month now, and he rather reasonably had had other things on his mind at the time. "Ah! I think I've got it." Harry then proceeded to make a long series of awful hissing noises that sounded just as spine tingling as the last, which really made no sense. It was just hissing. After he was done, the mouth of Slytherin's bust parted without further fanfare, and the aurors went about their work.

Headmaster Dumbledore seemed amused, however, as he was chuckling to himself. When he felt nearly everyone's gaze fall on him, he said, "I never took Slytherin to be so vain."

"You're a parselmouth!" Harry reacted immediately. He stomped a foot in the water getting both Hermione and Tonks wet. "Why didn't you say something! I spent months dealing with _that_ " – he thrust a hand toward Susan who still looked very much ill at ease – "before Hermione was attacked and everyone let up."

Headmaster Dumbledore made a sad sort of smile before making a series of hissing sounds that did not in any way set Hermione to shivering or otherwise stoke some primal fear in her. Harry looked just as confused as she was.

"One can speak parseltongue without _speaking_ parseltongue, Harry. I presume you could not understand me?"

"Yes…"

"There is a magic to the language, whose secrets are, if not lost, then jealously guarded. The only known person to become a parselmouth is the alchemist Paracelsus in the sixteenth century. Many have, however, learnt the grammar and vocabulary. Incidentally, I also speak Mermish and Gobbledegook. Lovely languages. It's a shame more people don't take the time to learn them."

If the harsh grating sounds Hermione had heard goblins make on occasion qualified as 'lovely', she rather doubted Mermish was any better. Frustratingly, Hermione made a mental note to at least spare five minutes thinking about why the headmaster might be dropping a subtle clue to learn those languages. She and Harry had more than enough to do without adding foreign language studies to the mix, so unless there was a _very_ good reason, she fully intended not to bother.

 _Ack! I completely forgot to look up_ The Tale of the Three Brothers _in the library, and I forgot to ask Mum and Dad to buy_ Reaper Man _. Oh well. It's too late for the latter, and I'm sure if I ask around in Flourish and Blotts, I can get the right book there._ _Later, then._

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts with Harry pulling at her sleeve and found she was already walking; their group had set off to explore the chamber. Lady Bones and Headmaster Dumbledore were gone, as were all but two of the aurors who were standing guard at the base of Salazar's bust, one facing in and one out.

"Out of curiosity, Harry, what was the passphrase?"

"Speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four."

 _Vain indeed_.

Their group of four, Harry, Hermione, Susan, and Tonks, walked through the sewer-like tunnels of the Chamber of Secrets, all of which were flooded. Hermione could only presume that basilisks were amphibious snakes, since otherwise one would have a hard time surviving down here. Thankfully, the floor was remarkably intact despite centuries of water damage affecting it, or more likely not affecting it due to some enchantment.

They wandered about, taking turns at random, many of which should have led them back to where they'd come from but somehow did not. Hermione had long ago given up trying to understand Hogwarts's geometry – or so she liked to pretend – but it still irked her that they could take six quick lefts and somehow not cross their own path.

The good news was that the aurors must have tidied up a bit, since Harry had said the chamber was strewn with bones and the occasional shed skin. Hermione would much rather avoid all of that if she could. That was entirely too morbid for her tastes, or at least it was when outside of a potions lab or a greenhouse.

Unfortunately, the bad news was that without the danger, the bones, the skin, or the basilisk, the Chamber of Secrets was dreadfully boring. The ancient art they occasionally ran into was interesting and notably much better than contemporary muggle art, but that was all there was. Excepting an expansive underground lake at the end of one tunnel – which Harry mentioned was an underwater exit – there was nothing else to be found. Hermione would have bet just about anything that there would _at least_ have been exits into the school proper for the basilisk, but if there were, then the chamber was aptly named, for they remained both hidden and secret.

"I just don't understand!" Hermione complained, kicking up water as she walked to vent her irritation, not that it helped. "Why go to the effort of building a secret chamber underneath the school if you're not going to put anything in it?"

"Besides a basilisk," Tonks commented, obviously amused at how long Hermione's ranting had gone on. It was fast approaching five minutes at least by now.

"But that's just it! It's just a big snake. What's the point? Why the 'Chamber of Secrets'? Basilisks were known before Salazar bred this one. A basilisk as a guardian, I could understand, but the basilisk being the secret itself? It just doesn't make sense."

"Well, Slytherin wanted to keep muggleborn out of Hogwarts. Maybe the basilisk was supposed to do that in secret somehow." Susan said that, but she sounded even less sure of the idea than Hermione was vexed.

"Not a chance," Hermione said. The Sorting Hat had all but challenged her to research Slytherin her first year, and she had. _At least I got one up on that stupid hat._ She knew she was being petty, but she hardly cared.

"She's right, Susan," Tonks said. "A basilisk wouldn't be able to do much harm before everyone was evacuated and Hogwarts shut down. The school stayed open as long as it did because Malfoy was threatening the board of governors. First attack after Dumbledore was gone, he let the closure order go through."

Hermione tucked that piece of information away for later analysis. "No, it's not even that. I really doubt Slytherin was interesting in murdering children." One hand reaching into her bookbag, Hermione blindly searched through it until she found a notebook. She tore out a sheet of paper and pulled a pencil out along with it. Balancing on one leg and using the other as a table, she wrote 'My name is Harry Potter' on it.

"Here," Hermione said, holding the paper out to Harry, who quirked an eyebrow at her, without letting anyone else see it. "You're a tenth century muggleborn with a typical muggle peasant background. Please tell me your thoughts on what I gave you."

It took all of half a second before Harry's eyes widened in understanding. Susan looked on curiously while Tonks tried to read what Hermione had written without even being subtle about it.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I can't read this."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the ridiculous accent Harry had adopted, but he got the point across.

"Hermione, what on Earth did you write?" Susan asked.

Tonks refused to wait and snatched the paper from Harry's hand. "'My name is Harry Potter'? I don't get it."

Continuing on with his absurd accent, Harry said, "Please forgive me, Ma'am. I never learnt to read or write."

Satisfied with the shock shown on both Susan's and Tonks's faces, Hermione said, "I don't know what Slytherin's actual reasoning was, but I'd have kicked muggleborn students out, too. It'd be like sticking first years into NEWT classes and expecting them to excel. It's not fair to them, and it's a hindrance to everyone else's education."

"And so you're frustrated because you wanted to find out what he was thinking," Harry concluded with a nod of his head.

"Oh, don't even get me started! If there was _one place_ in Magical Britain that'd have documents untouched by the changing politics of the country, it'd be _here_." Hermione swung her foot through the water and kicked up an especially large wave. "But there's nothing. Nothing! Where are my secrets! A giant basilisk should be guarding a treasure hoard or a secret library! Confront the monster. Collect the reward. That's how things are _supposed_ to go."

"Hermione…" came the hesitant voice of Susan.

"What?" Hermione said, trying her best not to snap.

Tonks took over, asking, "This isn't some joke, is it?"

"No, but this whole chamber is."

"What she means to say," Harry said, "is muggle education has come a long way. The upper class muggleborn back then would have been able to read, write, multiply, and such, but everyone else learnt their trade and not much else. Literacy was a precious gift for centuries after Rome collapsed and life became complete bollocks for everyone. These days, however, we educate from age five to eighteen just for mandatory, general knowledge. A lot of people go to university afterwards for another four years to learn a science or an art in depth, and some go even further for at least another four years to become… The equivalent here would be a master of their discipline."

Harry finally noticed Hermione glaring at him. "Er, what?"

"You." Hermione took a step closer and poked Harry in the chest. "Why are you barely passing history of magic?" She poked him again for good measure. "Huh?"

"Because Professor Binns's lectures are so boring," Harry said, punctuating the last two words for emphasis. "You are literally the only one who can pay attention to them the whole way through."

"And I give you and Ron my notes. What are you doing with them? Making paper aeroplanes?"

"I read them, but I'm not a walking encyclopedia. I'd love to be able to pull random names and numbers out of my head in a snap, but I can't. There's just no…purpose. No incentive. I don't have any reason to care. I really don't know how you do it."

Tonks shoved Hermione back with one hand, and with her other, she pushed Harry a step away as well. "Not to interrupt this domestic or anything, but go back a sec. Muggles go to school for _thirteen_ years _at minimum_?"

Hermione crossed her arms and first gave Harry her best imitation of Professor McGonagall's glare before replying. "Yes, but a lot of what we learn in primary school – which is only the first half of that – you expect students to come to Hogwarts already knowing. You essentially require homeschooling until eleven. Results vary."

"That explains so much," Susan said to Tonks.

"Shouldn't you already have known, Tonks?" Hermione asked. "Your dad is muggleborn."

Tonks just shrugged.

"And explains what?" Harry asked.

"There are a lot of schools that cater specifically to muggleborn, while most of the rest are…" Susan looked to Tonks for support.

"The rest would ban muggleborn, if they could, but settle for having discouraging policies."

"Not all of them," Susan protested. "It's a big political issue."

"You keep telling yourself that, Kid," Tonks said.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Hermione said, "The fundamental problem with education here is Magical Britain ignores mundane subjects almost completely and makes several assumptions about what everyone already knows, not that it's discriminatory. The simple fix is for _everyone_ to start school earlier, muggleborn included. Start with mostly non-magical education – maybe a bit of theory, potions, herbology, and so on – while each student's magic grows and stabilises, and end at OWL classes. _Then_ you can have NEWT magical and equivalent mundane courses in university, and that way you can even include a lot more in those courses. And your life spans are so much longer, too! You _have the time_ to require a full and complete education. It doesn't matter if you all graduate at thirty."

"No one would ever go for that," Tonks said. "At least no one who has any real power to make the change. Regardless of how muggle it'd sound, the old families wouldn't want their children getting any ideas that aren't their own. Can't let them out of sight for long, you know. Not until they're indoctrinated."

"Bah! It's a long overdue change that anyone with any sense–" Hermione looked to Harry, who'd tapped her on the shoulder. He had a look on his face that said to drop it. Presuming he had a good reason – he usually did – Hermione shifted her rant back to the original topic of her ire and resumed walking, leading the group forward and splashing to vent her frustration all the way.

"Anyway, we've been through practically this whole chamber, and there hasn't been any evidence that other heirs took anything out. You'd think there'd at least be an empty office, or dusty, empty bookshelves, or _something_ down here. Actual secrets! Not a big, dumb snake that likes to eat children."

Harry's quiet snickering at her rant abruptly stopped. Hermione turned to him, only to find him with a pale expression on his face.

"Harry?"

"Cuz?"

Hermione put a hand on Harry's arm just to see if he would respond. He blinked and opened his mouth without saying anything. Then trying again, he said, "Oh, bugger me."

 _What?_ "Harry, what is it?"

"I wasn't even thinking at the time. It… She? He? It sounded like a she. He told her to kill me. Merlin, that's two now."

Hermione took both of Harry's hands and turned him away from Susan and Tonks before throwing up a privacy charm. They would still see, and if they crossed the charm's boundary they would hear, but it might help. Hermione was fairly sure this was quickly developing into something private.

Likely seeing the unasked question on Hermione's face, Harry whispered, "The snake wasn't the secret. It _knew_ the secrets."

The silence that followed was stifling, if not prolonged, broken only by the increasingly frequent sound of Harry's breath. Hermione silently signalled for Tonks and Susan to back off further and stay that way before focusing all her attention back on the twelve-year-old boy who now had two counts of justifiable homicide hanging over him.

 _Or is it three? The diary–_ Hermione shook her head of the thought. It hardly mattered, and bringing it up would hardly help matters. The last thing Harry needed was to feel any kind of guilt over Quirrelmort's fate, even if the diary was kind of sort of not really him. She was still a bit unclear on what exactly the being in the diary had been, or if it'd even been a person at all.

"Harry, listen to me," Hermione said, pulling him closer to whisper, their foreheads barely a centimetre apart. That was the next best option to help him relax without awkwardly explaining the privacy charm to him, which would probably only make him feel like she thought he had something to hide. Having done this once already, hopefully she could avoid making the same non-obvious mistakes as last time. "You are a wonderful person and a wonderful friend. There's nothing you could possibly do to get rid of me."

"I could kill you, too," Harry whispered through his laboured breaths.

Hermione's eye twitched, and she did the first thing that came to mind.

* * *

"Oh, bugger me."

"Harry, what is it?"

Harry stared for a moment into Hermione's eyes. Of all people, she would never judge him for this. He knew that in his head. She'd thoroughly convinced him of that last year after badgering him enough to get him to open up. But that was just in his head.

Stringing together words as best as he could, Harry said, "I wasn't even thinking at the time. It… She? He? It sounded like a she. He told her to kill me. Merlin, that's two now."

 _This is how it starts, isn't it? Desensitisation to killing. I didn't even realise what I was doing; I didn't even bat an eye when it was done. That's it. All hail the dark lord, Harry Potter._

"Harry, listen to me." Harry felt himself being pulled dangerously close to Hermione. "You are a wonderful person and a wonderful friend. There's nothing you could possibly do to get rid of me."

There was an obvious flaw to that reasoning, one the future Dark Lord Harry would probably have no qualms about. Tom Riddle had had no problem murdering _his_ brilliant muggleborn.

His voice weak and trembling, Harry spoke between breaths so quietly before thinking that he had to wonder if Hermione could even hear him. "I could kill you, too."

An instant later, Harry was in such shock that he almost missed the mild sting of pain.

 _Did – did Hermione just headbutt me?_

With poorly disguised fury, Hermione whispered, "Stop being stupid! I don't know what's going on in that head of yours, but there's clearly something wrong with it. I'm tempted to try legilimency right now to find out what just so I can tell you exactly why you're being an absolute dolt."

"I… Sorry."

A second after his apology, Hermione's eyes widened and the anger vanished from her face, only to be replaced by distress. "Oh, Merlin, Harry, I'm sorry."

"It's fine." _I think I hit an emotional trigger. That's… I'll have to think about that._ Cutting Hermione off, Harry continued, "Not that I'm recommending the method, but I think you shocked me out of the early stages of a panic attack. Thanks for that."

Hermione shut down for a moment as she tended to do when she was completely lost. She would probably be embarrassed if he ever told her, but Harry thought it was awfully cute, much akin to looking at a confused kitten.

Really though, as much as Harry would absolutely _love_ to see Hermione deck Malfoy when he inevitably pushed her too far, Harry really _should_ talk to her sometime about her tendency to lash out when angered, whether that be physically or, much more often, verbally. He sometimes wondered if she even realised she had almost as bad of a temper as he did. She did have a much narrower range of things that set her off, however, although apparently, he'd just uncovered another one.

"Um… You're welcome. I guess."

"Besides," Harry said, trying to put his previous train of logic behind him, "you've spent the last ten minutes ranting and raving and the fifteen before that simmering. What did I expect to happen?" He suppressed a laugh at the blush that entirely accurate description of Hermione's recent behaviour had pulled out of her.

"I guess…"

"Really, though. Thanks." Then since he knew it would be coming sooner or later – there was no uncertainty with Hermione; she was a very physical person – Harry gave her a hug. With her, at least, he was getting used to them and the rest of her pokes, prods, and other general physical contact. It was nice, really, to have someone he could be mostly comfortable with being that physically close to. If he were to put it in the most succinct way possible, he expected her to have him properly trained by sometime early next year.

 _Of course, saying that to her would probably earn me a book thrown in my face._ Harry silently laughed to himself at the image before breaking away from Hermione, who he heard mutter a finite incantatem. He turned around to find a grinning Tonks behind him, which boded ill, even _if_ she was just trying to help.

"So, teasing material only, eh?"

Hermione must have still been awfully upset, seeing as she gave Tonks the two finger salute. Not that Tonks took offence. She only grinned wider and laughed.

"That the spirit. We'll have you swearing like a proper Brit in no time."

By some unspoken agreement, the four of them said nothing more about the last few minutes, instead walking back toward the main room of the Chamber of Lost Secrets. When they arrived, Lady Bones and the headmaster were already there chatting with each other. Harry just caught sight of an auror heading out of the chamber and assumed they were all packed up and heading out.

There was, of course, also the basilisk. Harry tried his best not to show how much that still hurt, but as per usual, Hermione was not fooled. He felt her hand brush against his. Turning to look at her, her expression alone was enough to understand that there was a promise to talk more later when they were alone.

It was foolish, really. Harry knew that. Even if it was at Quirrelmort's order, the basilisk had tried to kill him. But still, it would be just as wrong to pretend nothing had happened. He lacked even such trivial knowledge as the basilisk's name, and he'd killed her all the same. Was it something silly like Blinky? Something majestic like Alexandra? Was she named after an old family friend like Cleopatra? The Slytherins must have been around during the Roman Republic if they claimed to be pure blooded in Salazar's time. Did she even have a name, or was it just 'Basilisk, do my bidding'?

Harry sighed. _What a rotten way to end the year._ Even though he _knew_ it would jinx him, he thought, _I hope the next one is better._

* * *

It was a little unnerving to be eating at the Hufflepuff table with an adult, let alone Lady Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and sitting member of the Wizengamot. That was doubly true for Hermione, who was thankful that she'd remembered to leave her rowan wand behind and to tell Harry to do the same, just in case.

Some part of Hermione was convinced she should be more alarmed about breaking the law, but the rules were so unfair and biased against her, the rest of her promptly told that minority to be quiet. Besides, it was not like she was going to rescue a condemned prisoner from execution or something.

Susan, naturally, was not so afflicted with guilt and was absorbing the affections of her aunt like a sponge. On the extreme opposite end of the spectrum, Tonks, who'd been permitted to stay behind to chat with Harry, was uncharacteristically restrained in word and deed. It was almost like she was a civilised human being.

For the moment, Hermione had been left to her own thoughts. Today had not gone at all as expected or as hoped. And she found it hard to decide whether her barging in and asking to be shown around had been a disaster or not. On the one hand, the trip had been ultimately fruitless and had upset Harry. But on the other, he would now never have the chance to realise that the basilisk was a person and bury himself in guilt without her knowledge and in her absence. That was something.

 _I suppose it does make sense that Slytherin told all of his secrets to a basilisk. There weren't many parselmouths outside his family, let alone ones who would ever have access to Hogwarts. A ten tonne killing machine with a very long lifespan is a much more…secure medium for storing information than writing. If you're going to hoard knowledge, then well done, Slytherin. Jolly good show._

Hermione let out a wistful little sigh. _I do wonder what secrets the basilisk possessed. They must have been the stuff of legends to go through all the trouble._ She paused a moment. _Well, they are_ now _, of course, but they must've been back then, too, to go through the bother._

A sudden realisation occurred. Hermione's dropped fork drew a bit of attention to her, but she quietly pretended that her grip had simply loosened. Suddenly, her dinner seemed much less appetising.

 _Quirrelmort knows all of them. He has a hoard of otherwise forgotten legendary magicks, an unknown agenda that at least peripherally involves killing thousands upon thousands of people, we have no idea where he is or when he'll next be back_ – Hermione gulped – _and both Harry and probably myself are on his hit list._

"Oh, by the way, Aunt Amelia, Harry had something he wanted to ask you."

Hermione perked up at the words and nudged Harry. Anything to distract her right now was more than welcomed. When he turned to look at her, she nodded her head toward Susan and Lady Bones.

"Susan tells me you had something to ask me?"

For a moment, Harry looked confused. Hermione reined in her urge to sigh in exasperation; how could he forget his entire reason for meeting with Lady Bones to begin with?

 _Well, the basilisk was a bit of a distraction. And then we talked for a few hours after we'd gotten away from everyone else. And then Ron dragged him off for a game of chess. I guess I'm being unfair._ Hermione could admit that much.

But she still thought this was a bad idea.

"Oh!" Harry said. "Right. I asked Susan, and she wasn't sure. Is Sirius Black allowed visitors?"

Lady Bones knocked back her drink. Slamming her glass down, she said, "The only visitors the vermin in the pits of Azkaban receive are dementors. Why do you _want_ to see that arsehole?"

"Well, he didn't receive a trial, and no one seems to have found out why he betrayed my parents. I was hoping if I went, maybe I could understand why I'm…well…an orphan."

Hermione noticed Lady Bones's gaze shift slightly toward Susan, yet another child in Hogwarts who'd lost her parents.

"Dammit," Lady Bones muttered. "Fine. Show up at the ministry on June thirtieth at one in the afternoon and ask for me. Dress warm and cheap."

 _That's only six days from now. I hope Daphne's estimate was accurate._

As she thought about how she was breaking _yet_ _another_ law beyond wand regulations, underage magic restrictions, and probably a half-dozen other things, Hermione had a moment of inspiration. Both she and Harry had completely forgotten about something else they could use help with.

"Lady Bones?" Hermione said. Once she had the woman's attention, she said, "Last summer, Harry got an underage magic warning when a house elf named Dobby performed a hover charm in his house. Could we get that removed from his record?"

An eyebrow raised, Lady Bones asked, "Can you produce this house elf for questioning?"

Hermione looked to Harry, who shrugged.

 _Come to think of it, how did Dobby find Privet Drive if it's under a fidelius? I guess I never asked the headmaster how the Dursleys allow new people to come to their home. Maybe Dobby fooled them somehow? No, that he even knew where to start looking to begin with is…worrying._

"I tricked Lord Malfoy into freeing him in May. I don't know where–"

"Please tell me I'm not hearing things," Lady Bones said. "You tricked Malfoy into freeing his house elf?"

"That's…not a crime, is it?" Harry asked.

"Ha! Probably to the muggles, but not here. House elves are expensive to buy" – Hermione tried not to do more than frown at that – "and that was probably one born and raised in the family. Good show, Mr. Potter! You've just made my day."

"Does that mean you'll help?" Hermione asked.

"Of course," Lady Bones replied. "Sounds like an expulsion plot by Malfoy, anyway. We get those from time to time, and first offences sometimes slip through the cracks. Hopkirk is a little too eager at her post."

That was, technically, what had happened, but Dobby had done it of his own volition and actually _against_ the Malfoys' interests. Of course, Hermione felt no need to volunteer that fact, nor did Harry, if his silence on the matter was anything to judge by. They had what they needed; there was no reason to risk upsetting the apple cart or to risk getting Dobby in trouble, although he did need a good talking to about how to help others.

"Tonks, remind me to talk to Hopkirk again about proper procedure."

"Ah!" Startled out of her side conversation with a seventh year Hufflepuff, Tonks spun in her seat, already saluting. "Yes, of course, Chief!" Hermione tried not to laugh at how nervous Tonks was around her boss, but it was a hard and losing battle.

The rest of the evening passed in good cheer and conversation. By the time dinner was over and Headmaster Dumbledore had reminded everyone to start packing, Lady Bones was very definitely drunk, if not outright sloshed. Tonks left Hogwarts in her company acting as something of a third leg.

When Hermione finally made it up to her room to get changed for bed, she found a small, thin, rectangular box sitting in her trunk. That was suspicious. But there was an envelope resting near the box, so Hermione cautiously picked it up after casting a few detection spells and opened it.

"DO NOT GET CAUGHT," the letter inside read. The words were furiously underlined more than a dozen times. Below that was a note that the potion was diluted enough in the chocolate for it to be missed in a casual inspection.

Looking about, Hermione made sure she was alone and unobserved before burning the letter and envelope together and scourgifying the ashes. No need to leave evidence lying around.

Hermione paused for a moment to reflect on that. It was more than a little worrying that her first reaction was 'burn the evidence'. She'd said it before, and she would say it again. _I_ really _need to spend more time with nice, guileless, law-abiding Susan._

Shaking her head, Hermione tucked the box of chocolate underneath some of her clothes. She was living the life of an adventurer and a heroine. Well, it was more the case that Harry was dragging her into such a life, but the fact remained. _Of course_ she would have to break and bend a few rules. When was the last time she'd read a novel where the protagonist on The Quest _never_ did anything illegal, not counting the collateral damage they inevitably caused?

 _Never?_

After pushing aside the niggling knowledge that that entire train of logic had been a _huge_ rationalisation, Hermione whispered a quiet thank you to Daphne. Now that she had her truth serum in hand, all she had left to do was find a good time when they were alone to give it to Harry.

* * *

Friday came and went. The leaving feast had been a pleasant enough affair, even if the speeches had been a little boring. Gryffindor had somehow won the house cup again. Since the headmaster had only given Harry and Ron – and annoying _still_ not Hermione, despite Harry's efforts to the contrary – an award this year for surviving and not house points, Harry could only assume Hermione had carried them to victory on the back of her academic achievements. Was it any wonder that Professor Flitwick still wanted her for his house?

Now on the Hogwarts Express on his way back to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Harry idly watched the scenery go by while ignoring the tense atmosphere in his compartment. Hermione's book on occlumency laid on his lap, momentarily forgotten, as he reflected on a most singular encounter he, Hermione, and Ron had had less than two hours ago.

Harry had just left Hogwarts's grounds in the company of Hermione and Ron. They made their way from the front gate to where the enchanted carriages to Hogsmeade were waiting. The only problem was that the carriages were most definitely _not_ self-pulling, and Harry had to wonder if they were enchanted at all.

"Hermione, what on Earth are those?" Harry asked, pointing at an underfed winged horse in front of the carriage. Somehow, it managed to make his stomach queasy and his legs shake just by looking in its general direction. It called up vague, mostly forgotten memories of pain, blood, and the darkness of his cupboard.

And to top it all off, Hermione hesitantly replied, "The carriages?"

"No! What's pulling the carr… You can't see them, can you?"

Hermione turned to Ron, who looked just as lost as her. Seeing no help coming from him, she turned back to Harry and asked, "Okay. Okay, the last time you were hearing voices, you actually were. What is it, exactly, that you see this time? Details."

"Every carriage has a pair of… Imagine a horse crossed with a bat that's a few hours short of starving to death."

"Harry, that is the most ghastly sounding creature I've ever heard of, and I just saw a thousand-year-old basilisk two days ago."

 _And of course only I can see them. Surprise, surprise. What else is new?_

"The school wouldn't let them pull the carriages if they were dangerous," Ron said.

Hermione, on the other hand, sounded distinctly unsure as she said, "I suppose so." After thinking for a few seconds, she gave Harry a strange look that he knew was supposed to mean something, but for the life of him, he had no idea what. "So they're a subspecies of magical horse, then? Like an abraxan or a _unicorn_?" She made that weird look again, gesturing toward the skeletal horses with her eyes, and Harry understood.

"I suppose. It doesn't have a mane, and the tail only has hair at the very end, but I guess it looks close enough to a horse that it…might be." Harry looked between the still frankly disturbing horse and Hermione. "Girls like horses, right? Do _you_ want to pet it?"

Rolling her eyes, Harry swore he saw Hermione's lips silently form the words, "You big baby." She shrugged her shoulders and said, "I guess," without further comment before moving toward the empty carriage in front of them. Stopping off to the side just in front of it, Hermione asked, "Where are they?"

"One is just in front of you about a metre away. It's…looking at you."

Hermione chose not to comment, and in all honesty, Harry was very happy with that. Instead, she said, "Tell me if I should back off or run away screaming, okay?"

"Yeah, go for it."

With one hand extended, Hermione blindly reached for the horse thing. When she finally found its barrel, it shifted its wings, which brushed against her. She froze with a stifled scream on her lips. "Harry…"

"It was just its wing, Hermione. It was…getting more comfortable, I suppose." That put Hermione at ease again, and she went about feeling her way to the horse's tail.

From Harry's side, Ron asked, "There's really something there?"

"Undoubtedly," Hermione replied. "Its skin feels… Harry, does it even have a coat? Anywhere?"

"Er, no. Guess I forgot to mention that."

Hermione finally found the end of the horse's tail, and when she had a firm grip on it, she subtly drew her wand. Harry could only tell by the ruffling of her robes, and even then only because he'd expected it.

As Hermione went about her work, Harry circled around the creature and took it all in while suppressing the uncomfortable feeling he got looking at it. In the right light, it actually seemed a bit familiar.

"Ron, do you know of any other invisible magical creatures?" Harry called out to Ron, who was cautiously approaching the horse.

"Well, there's demiguises. They look a bit like a gorilla. And there's mokes, I guess. They're lizards that shrink themselves smaller than a gnat, if that counts."

"Maybe…" Harry mumbled. Then he asked, "Any birds?"

Ron shrugged. "Not that I know of, Mate. Why?"

"If you look at it just right, it kind of looks like a dinosaur."

Hermione – _Hermione!_ – actually squealed in glee at that. "A dinosaur! Oh my gosh, Harry! I _have_ to see this for myself. Could you draw it for me sometime?"

Harry, who was no artist, said, "I…can try. No promises, though. And I only said kind of like."

"What's a dinosaur?" Ron asked. Hermione then proceeded to regale him with stories of giant lizards and a recommendation to watch _The Land Before Time_. While Ron did sound taken with the dinosaurs themselves, Harry doubted he would ever get around to watching that movie. The Weasleys, while very pro-muggle, were equally ignorant of how the muggle world actually worked. Mr. Weasley was the expert in the family, and he got confused about rubber ducks of all things.

"Um, excuse me. Harry?"

Surprised to hear him, Harry turned about to find Neville looking conspicuously away from the horses. The silver-haired girl with him, however, was not. It took a moment, but Harry recognised her as Luna Lovegood, one of the Hogwarts residents who could stand on disappearing-steps. She eagerly skipped forward to pet the horse without a care in the world.

"Hello, Neville. What is it?"

"You can see them?" The them in question was obvious, but Neville briefly looked toward the horses.

"You can, too?" Harry asked, although he already knew the answer. Luna obviously could, or was very good at faking it, and Neville was deliberately looking everywhere _but_ exactly where the horses were.

Neville nodded. "Unfortunately. It's… There's an unpleasant tradition at Hogwarts. If you notice someone who can see thestrals, you're supposed to explain it to them."

Like magic, Hermione suddenly appeared at Harry's side, all talk of dinosaurs forgotten. "They're called thestrals? Why can you and Harry see them? Where did they come from? Do you know if–"

Harry put a hand on Hermione's shoulder, which cut off her barrage of questions, much to Neville's relief.

"Um, yes, Hermione. They're thestrals. Hogwarts has a herd of them for the carriages, but I don't know where they hunt. The Forbidden Forest, probably."

"They're carnivorous?" Hermione asked. It was fairly obvious to Harry, at least, that she was uneasy with carnivorous, invisible, flying animals pulling carriages that young children rode in. It was an entirely valid concern, even if they were domesticated.

"Yes, but they only eat birds, bats…anything that flies, really."

Harry nudged Hermione in the side with his elbow and whispered to her, "Sounds like you have nothing to worry about."

Hermione nudged him back a bit harder. "Maybe they'll eat _you_ , then." Turning back to Neville, Hermione again asked, "So how does one go about seeing them?"

"Right, um… It's… Well, it might be best if I told Harry in private and let him decide if he wants to share.

Pouting, Hermione reluctantly gave the two of them some space. While Harry and Neville stepped off to the side, she went off and introduced herself to Lovegood.

"I'm sorry in advance if this brings up bad memories," Neville began. "You can only see thestrals if you've watched someone die and understand what happened."

"Oh…" _Well, I certainly have enough deaths in my life for that._ Harry sighed before asking, "Does it have to be human, or could it be a pet like a cat?"

Neville shook his head. "It has to be a person. But it doesn't have to be, you know, _human_ human. Goblins, veela, werewolves, and such all count. Probably creatures like sphinxes, too."

 _Which means it was probably the basilisk and not Quirrell, who I didn't actually_ see _die. Or my parents, maybe. Fantastic._ "Well, I'm not sure if I wanted to know that, but thanks all the same." Harry traded sad smiles with Neville and forewent the opportunity to ask him who he'd lost. Neville was kind enough to return the courtesy.

That over with, Harry and Neville rejoined Hermione, Ron, and Lovegood, who was still pampering a very appreciative thestral while she talked at Hermione and Ron observed. And it was definitely talking _at_. Hermione was barely responsive as she stared at Lovegood while looking utterly lost. On occasion, she emitted a short question that only renewed Lovegood's enthusiasm.

As it was past time to board the carriages, Harry bid their unexpected company goodbye after briefly introducing himself. He then grabbed ahold of a still comatose Hermione's shoulders and marched her into their carriage. It was only after they were in motion that she recovered. That Luna Lovegood girl must have been something special to get Hermione to freeze up for that long.

"Harry. I… There's something going wrong in that girl's head. I don't know if she's mad, or acting, or has some magical gift, or what, but… Just… Nevermind. What lets you see thestrals, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not at all, although you may mind after. Neville said…"

Harry explained how he thought the basilisk's death was what let him see the thestrals, which of course led to Ron asking what he meant. That in turn led to a more thorough discussion of his and Hermione's short excursion into the Chamber of Secrets than they'd given him before. Then _that_ had led to Ron asking what Harry was going to do with the basilisk, which then led to Hermione asking what Ron meant. Ron had gone on to explain that anyone who slayed a sufficiently dangerous creature somehow obtained ownership of its carcass.

Really, one did not have to be a closet Slytherin to see the flaws in that particular law, and Hermione had said as such. She could, however, have chosen her words a little more carefully. As much as Harry loved her honesty and frankness – most of the time, anyway – Ron had a bit of a hairpin trigger on his temper when he felt insulted or embarrassed. His tendency to yell when he was mad only made matters worse. If one explained nicely to Hermione why something she said hurt, she would listen and try better next time. But when she was yelled at, she usually dug in her heels.

Harry sighed as he turned away from the compartment window and glanced at his friends. Ron was snacking on candy bought from the trolley and occasionally glaring at Hermione now that their shouting match was over. Across the compartment sitting next to Harry, Hermione was curled up with a book in front of her face and not paying attention to anything else in the slightest, which on the bright side, meant she would take no further offence unless Ron decided to say, well, just about anything, really.

 _At least they're still in the same compartment. That's something, I guess._ Sometimes, Harry had to wonder how those two ever managed to occupy the same room, let alone be friends. Mrs. Weasley had said it was a sign of young love and confused feelings neither knew how to deal with, but for the life of him, he could never see it. _Maybe_ Ron, but Hermione was far more mature than that. Harry knew _exactly_ how she expressed affection, and _that_ was not it. Mrs. Weasley had spent all of a day, perhaps, with her, while _he_ had two years; he liked to consider himself the better judge.

Besides, Hermione had always struck Harry as the type of girl who would just ask a bloke out on a date if she were interested.

Shaking his head, Harry propped Hermione's book on occlumency back up to continue skimming through it again. She claimed she was untalented in the art and far worse than him, but he found that hard to believe. He'd had a bit of luck with some of the exercises, true, but that was it. Occlumency was, to put it briefly and extremely inaccurately, the art of lying to oneself. His area of expertise was more in lying to others, sadly, and to the Dursleys and primary school staff in particular.

A knock came at the compartment door, which meant someone besides Malfoy and his two stooges was behind it. Harry would take literally anyone else at the moment if they could lighten the atmosphere.

"Come in," Harry called out.

The door slid open, and the girl behind it said, "Hey, Harry. Do you mind if–"

"Susan!" Harry said, springing to his feet and taking her trunk for her. "You are exactly the girl I wanted to see. Hermione and Ron were having a…eh…debate, and I think you can help us resolve it."

"Uh, alright. I'll do what I can. Hello, Hermione, Weasley. Do either of you mind if I hide out here? Hannah and Ernie are snogging. Poorly."

"Go ahead," Hermione said.

"Whatever," Ron added.

"Thanks." Susan took the open seat across from Hermione next to Ron. "So what are you two arguing about?"

"Ronald thinks that because Harry killed the basilisk, he owns it."

"He does!" Ron protested. "My great, great gran Ursula killed a dragon and got to keep it."

"You don't even know if it was a wild dragon or not," Hermione retorted. "Who else would even have had a claim against it?"

"There haven't been wild dragons in centuries!"

"No one has _seen_ a wild dragon in centuries. Who's actually looking?"

"Everyone all the time! If one flew over a muggle city, it'd be a disaster!"

"Oh, yes. I forgot how dragons _don't migrate_."

Susan looked to Harry with a pitying expression that seemed to ask, 'Do you always have to deal with this?' He just sighed and shrugged in return. If there were some trick to get Hermione and Ron to stop arguing, it was beyond him.

"Alright, you two, break it up." Turning to her side, Susan asked, "Weasley, when exactly did your great, great gran slay this dragon?"

"Um… Eighteen-ninety…something."

"Ninety-seven?"

"Yeah, that's it!"

"During May?"

"Er, maybe? It was in the spring, I think."

Susan nodded to herself, saying, "Thought so."

"Please tell me he's not actually right," Hermione said before Susan could continue. "That would be a stupid law even by Magical Britain's standards."

"Oi!" Beside Ron, Harry noticed Susan bristle slightly at the comment as well, even if Hermione was completely and utterly right, both in the sense she meant it and in the literal logical sense. But Susan, at least, let it go without riling up either Hermione or Ron any further.

"Let's all calm down," Susan said. "You're both right. Sort of."

Seeing as the two who were actually arguing over this were still fuming, Harry – who, he realised, was the only one it actually concerned – asked, "How so?"

"Well, the short answer is the basilisk isn't yours."

"Ha! Told you!"

Harry put a hand on Hermione's shoulder and pushed her gently back into her seat. She was usually right in these sorts of situations, and Ron had a fairly predictable response to her gloating. Once she settled down, Harry turned back to Susan and said, "Go on."

"Alright. So, as I said, the basilisk isn't yours, but it'd have been if you'd killed it between May fifth and ninth of 1897. It's something of a cultural myth that the law was never repealed, but on May fourth, the Wizengamot passed a law that made whoever killed a non-sentient creature the owner of it. Not the remains, mind you, but the creature itself."

"Then I definitely don't own the basilisk," Harry muttered under his breath.

Not having heard his aside, Susan continued, "It…wasn't exactly the most well thought-out plan. The day before on the third of May, a company of aurors raided a group of smugglers. The criminals were caught, but in the process, a number of dragons, lethifolds, basilisks, and a nundu were released into the wild, along with a variety of less dangerous exotic creatures. An emergency session of the Wizengamot gathered to decide how to respond, and, well, that law was the result.

"By the sixth, nearly all the escaped animals were accounted for, except the nundu, which was nowhere near worth the risk. By the seventh, it became apparent that there were far more basilisk parts on the market than could conceivably be legal. As it turned out, people had been illegally breeding basilisks for the black market and decided to let their illegally bred basilisks escape into the wild for a confederate to legally kill and claim."

By this point, Harry had to keep a hand on Hermione's leg to keep her from exploding at how incredibly irresponsible, dangerous, and stupid Magical Britain was. She would likely include the rest of the magical world as well for good measure. To be fair, though, Harry shared the sentiment. Any government that would throw someone, especially someone like Hagrid, into Azkaban simply to 'be seen doing something' had fundamental problems in it.

Still, Harry could somewhat guiltily admit to himself that if such events were what it took to wean Hermione off of her respect for authority – authority outside Hogwarts, that was; Merlin forbid a professor be anything less than perfection incarnate – then they were a price worth paying. He would hate for her to turn into Percy Weasley.

"Then on the eighth," Susan continued, "the ministry was flooded with complaints of neighbours killing and stealing livestock, at which point it became apparent that there was a serious problem. But the real tipping point was when the" – Susan faked a cough – "then Lord Bones sent a Hungarian Horntail to Black Manor, watched it burn the house and most of their fortune to ashes before the Black family managed to bring it down, and then told them to exercise better control of their dragons."

Harry quietly whispered, "Flies," to Hermione. She promptly snapped her mouth shut.

"This wasn't long after the Black Family brutally reneged on a betrothal contract between heirs Sirius Black the Second and Ellen Bones. That bastard convinced Ellen he loved her. She was so young and sheltered, and he was admittedly both handsome and charming; she never stood a chance. He convinced her to emancipate herself so that they could begin the legal process of merging the families upon their marriage. But after he stole half of my family's magicks with his silver tongue, the Blacks killed her. Not that we could ever prove it."

Ignoring the bitterness in Susan's voice, Harry gave her his condolences. That pulled her back to the here and now, and she nervously shifted from side to side, glancing at Ron. "Incidentally," she said, "that's probably the dragon your great great gran slew."

Shrugging, Ron said, "Whatever. The Blacks were awful people. Serves them right."

"Uh…right. I'm glad you agree. Well, by that point, absolutely everyone realised they'd made a disastrous mistake, even those who were profiting from the law and had a vote in the matter. If the noble and most ancient House of Black could be all but ruined without consequence, then anyone could; it'd be post-Britannia anarchy all over again. The Wizengamot convened on the ninth for its shortest session on record, and that was the end of that. Well, mostly. There _are_ a few modified provisions for extraordinarily dangerous creatures like nundus that you simply _don't_ breed, domesticate, guide, control, and so on, but a basilisk doesn't qualify."

Now recovered from the shock of it all, Hermione sat up straighter, crossed her arms, and stared at Ron. Even without looking, Harry was well aware that she had a victorious smirk on her face. With any luck, she would stay silent and just let Ron cool down on his own.

Deciding to aid in that plan, before either Ron or Hermione had much of a chance to speak, Harry said, "Thank you, Susan. Your aunt has obviously rubbed off on you."

"Yes, well, she's very…" Susan said, blushing. "It's kind of hard not to pick up a few things growing up around her."

"It must be more interesting than listening to Binns drone on about his goblin racism, if you get to hear the black comedy in history."

"Professor Binns," Hermione said. "But succinctly put."

 _Alright, that's Hermione satisfied and distracted. Ron next._ "Speaking of, though, what was that about your great, great gran slaying a dragon? If you knew that already, you must know the rest of the story."

Obviously happy to have the attention, even if he was still resolutely avoiding looking at Hermione with anything less than a glare, Ron shared the family legend of Dragonslayer Ursula over the rest of the train ride to King's Cross. And as it turned out, 'Dragonslayer' was an actual title one could earn in the magical world, even if it was purely an honorific.

At any rate, Ron's story was a good distraction for Harry as well. Hermione's parents, who she'd told who knew what to, were waiting for him at the end of this train ride. Despite her reassurances to the contrary, Harry was certain his remaining lifespan was measured in minutes.

* * *

 **A/N:**

RIP Blinky(?) the Snake 990 - 1993

The idea of intelligent snakes (plus or minus parseltongue magic) comes, of course, from the first HP book. The idea of _the basilisk_ knowing the secrets of the Chamber of Secrets comes from _HPMoR_ by EY. The idea made entirely too much sense not to run with, although this Tom Riddle left the basilisk alive for one reason or another.

Thanks to my prereader Owen Hinds (can't remember your user name; let me know if you want me to change the credit).

PS: Sorry this one is a week later than I'd hoped. DNA23 took away a week of my time and left me pretty exhausted afterward. The next chapter is a short interlude and will likely be posted next weekend.


	6. Interlude - Culturally Adrift

**A/N:** JKR owns Harry Potter.

* * *

Act One - Best Friends  
Interlude - Culturally Adrift

"They're not here, you know."

Harry abruptly stopped his none-too-subtle scanning of King's Cross as if it were a war zone.

"The Dursleys," Hermione clarified for him. "They're not here. Mum and Dad were…how to put it politely? They were very clear that they would be happy to pick you up and drop you off from now on. We usually take the M23 to London, but the A24 through Surrey is only a little out of our way."

"I know. I know, but the Dursleys have never done anything nice for me even by their inaction. It's just…a reflex, I guess."

Before she could comment on that, Hermione heard a familiar voice call out to her. She turned to her left and looked past Harry to find her mum just visible over the crowd, bobbing up and down and waving a hand above her. Her dad, being at least a decimetre taller, could be seen standing next to her.

Hermione took off as fast as she could while pulling a bulky trolley behind her through King's Cross at midday. As she built up speed, the crowd realised it needed to part before her, and by the time she reached her parents, she leapt into her mum's outstretched arms with the usual ballistic speed of her reunion hugs. As the saying went – a product of Harry's unique brand of imagination – a Granger without hugs was no Granger at all.

"Mum! Dad! I missed you so much!"

With her mum otherwise occupied, her dad said, "We did, too, but it hasn't been _that_ long since the Easter hols. Did you ever figure out what they're celebrating?"

Shaking her head, Hermione mumbled into her mum's chest, "Forgot to ask. Brushing with death does that to a girl." She was definitely not crying, not even a little bit.

"You told them that, too?" came the weak, terrified voice of Harry, along with the approaching sound of wheels on pavement.

After first surreptitiously rubbing her eyes on her mum's blouse, Hermione detached herself and gave her dad a brief hug. She then stepped to the side so she could see everyone. "Of course, I did."

"Everything?" Harry asked, somehow even more nervous than before.

"Everything," Hermione replied, although she _had_ left out a few details that were no one's business but her own, like that formerly irritating life debt. It'd been pleasantly quiet over the past several weeks, only really popping up to remind her to practice the patronus charm with Harry every evening. Despite their efforts, he was still stuck on misty shields, and she could barely get a flicker of light from the tip of her wand.

Still, Hermione _would_ have been worried that her parents would pull her from Hogwarts, except that even with basilisks, trolls, and dark lords running around, Hogwarts _still_ had a better safety record than other schools. Magic was dangerous, and children were careless; no other school instilled safety procedures in their students as well as Hogwarts, especially when it came to transfiguration. With enough research, her parents had concluded that 'the integral of the probability density of serious injury at Hogwarts' was _still_ lower than at other schools, even including the strange occurrences there these last two years.

Hermione only understood the most general idea of what that meant, but that reasoning let her stay at Hogwarts, so she'd long since let the matter go.

And oddly enough, that safety record extended to potions with Professor Snape, too. Somehow.

"Hermione?" Hermione's mum said. Hermione looked up to see her gesturing with her head between her and Dan and Harry.

"Oh! Right. Harry, this is my mum and dad, Doctors Dan and Emma Granger." Then turning about in place, Hermione said, "Mum, Dad, this is Harry Potter."

"Just Dan and Emma, if you would," Dan said, reaching out to shake hands.

If a bit awkwardly, Harry mirrored the action. "Harry." The handshake only lasted for a moment or two before Dan pulled him into a fierce hug. Dan then passed him off to Emma for a second round.

"Thank you for saving our little girl, Harry. We'll give you a pass for all the other trouble you've gotten her into for that."

It took a few seconds after Emma released Harry for him to regain his bearing and collect himself enough to protest. "I didn't – I'm sure Hermione would have outsmarted that troll just fine on her own."

"I expect she doesn't think so." Dan looked to Hermione, and she nodded her agreement. "See? There you go."

"Speaking of," Emma said, "it's time for us to go. I expect we have a busy day ahead. Shopping in Diagon Alley is always a bit of a fuss."

"We're going today?" Harry asked. He turned to Hermione, but she was just as confused as he was. Following her parents' lead, they slowly made their way toward the station exit.

"It seemed easier than driving back up to London tomorrow or taking the bus." Emma eyed Harry's clothing without trying to make it too obvious. "We can swing by the local shops in Crawley for summer clothes tomorrow afternoon, unless you two object."

"No! No, that's fine. Thank you for taking me. I hope I'm not being a bother."

Hermione bopped Harry on the head from behind with her vine wand. "Don't be silly, Harry," she said, and that was the end of that.

The walk through the madhouse that was King's Cross and eventually London proper was a bit more of a struggle than usual with two trolleys instead of one, but they successfully made it across the way to the car park next to St. Pancras Station. With the traffic, it took a frustratingly long time to get from there to Charing Cross Road and even longer to find a parking space near The Leaky Cauldron.

"We should've just walked," Emma had remarked.

In muggle clothes with Hermione's currently empty bookbag draped over his shoulder and Hermione herself hovering just in front of him, Harry managed to make it into Diagon Alley without being noticed. His scar was the obvious feature that gave him away, but no amount of makeup could hide his face. James Potter was rather well known and famous, and Harry looked just like him.

Still, they managed to avoid all but the occasional well-wisher noticing Harry as they moved through Diagon Alley proper, and even then, they somehow managed not to draw a crowd. Gringotts was their first stop, and seeing as the goblins there couldn't care less who Harry was, the group finally relaxed and split from what he'd referred to as their marching formation.

Since the Grangers had no vault and thus had no idea what they were doing, Harry took the lead and pulled Hermione with him up to a teller.

"Harry Potter and Proxy Custodian Hermione Granger," Harry said to the goblin, sounding about as confident as Hermione had ever heard him. "I need to make a withdrawal."

"Key?"

Hermione reached into her jeans pocket and withdrew the small, golden key to the Potter vault. She reached up to the countertop – for such a short species, goblins used awfully high tables – and placed it in front of the teller. The goblin took it, and a spark of white light shot forth from his fingers into the key.

"Very well." The goblin handed the key back, then said, "Follow me."

He led the two of them toward a guarded door at the back of the lobby with Hermione's parents following behind them. When they attempted to pass through, however, the guards blocked her parent's entry.

"They're with us," Harry said before Hermione or her parents could say anything.

The teller, who had barely paused in his stride, called back, "Doesn't matter. Follow me."

Hermione looked to Harry, who looked to her parents. When they shrugged, Harry did the same, and a silent agreement for Dan and Emma to wait behind was reached. There was little enough hope in arguing against Gringotts's own security measures, whatever they were for.

"Potter vault," the teller said to another goblin after he'd led them down a series of halls and staircases. They were in what looked like a naturally formed cave with a smooth floor carved from the stone. Through the cavern ran a rail line with what looked an awful lot like a pump trolley resting on it.

The other goblin, who presumably drove the trolley, eyed them with an unreadable expression for a few seconds. Nonetheless, he hopped up onto the trolley and instructed them to do the same.

"Hermione?" Harry whispered to her, although with the way sound bounced around in caves, she suspected the two goblins present heard him as well.

"What is it?"

"You remember what you told me about the Knight Bus?"

Hermione froze. There were no restraints on this trolley.

"Take your seat," the trolley driver said. There was a sneer, or a smirk, or something on his face that said he could hear them and took pleasure in Hermione's paling face.

"Think roller coaster." That was all Harry got to say before they took off and the screaming started.

* * *

Hermione felt Harry reach into her pocket to withdraw his vault key and hand it off to the foul demon who'd taken them to his vault. She could not care less. All she wanted to do right now was not vomit and, since Harry and his luck were with her, spark another goblin rebellion because she insulted the royal trolley driver or something equally absurd.

"Vault 687, Potter vault." The sound of stone grating on stone as the vault door opened was awful, but not nearly as bad as the ride down or nails on a blackboard.

Hermione shuddered as she instantly imagined the sound of long, unclipped nails screeching as they slid down a blackboard and how it must feel to have the nails jerk upward over and over all the way at random intervals. Her hands shot to her mouth as she forced down another urge to lose her breakfast.

 _Oh, Merlin, what is wrong with me!_

"You alright, Hermione?"

Hermione took a few deep breaths through her nose and did her best to steady herself. "I – I think so. Just…help me up? Please?"

Harry obliged, first pulling her up and then helping her down from the trolley. Even now, her vision was still dancing and her steps were uneven.

"I suppose this is the reason why you don't like playing quidditch."

"Among several," Hermione moaned.

"If it makes you feel better, Hagrid reacted the same way and had to get a drink while I was at Madam Malkin's."

 _Oh, no. I have to ride that thing again to get out. Ugh… Don't think about that, Hermione._ "Let's just get what we need and–"

As Hermione walked into Harry's vault, she froze midstep, and her mind shut down at what she saw.

"Um," Harry began nervously at her side, still holding her upright. "I… I didn't want the Dursleys to know how much I had, and Ron has it almost as bad as I do – did…will have had as far as hand-me-downs go, and you know how the Weasleys are about charity. Damned if I do; damned if I don't. Heh heh. I didn't exactly lie about how much I had. I just sort of…let you two believe whatever. You're not mad, are you? Hermione?"

Hermione, meanwhile, was crunching numbers, not really even registering that Harry was speaking.

 _Each pile of gold is approximately a rectangular pyramid. The base has an area of approximately ten to the third, and the height has to be ten to the second in order of magnitude. The pound to galleon exchange rate is something approximating a hundred to one, but I think I overestimated earlier, so ten to one. There are...thirty-ish piles, so with the one-third constant, ten. Three, five, six, seven._

"Ten million pounds!" Hermione shrieked. As far as fortunes went, it was respectable, if not notable. It was also one she was entirely unprepared for.

"And two plots of land, one in Godric's Hollow and one in the countryside," Harry added as what Hermione suspected was a weak attempt at humour.

Really, there was only one way Hermione could adequately express her surprise. "A few galleons, my arse! Harry could buy a _skyscraper_."

"Language."

Hermione blinked, and then she remembered that she was still leaning on Harry's shoulder for support, which meant he was _right there_.

"I… I don't…" Settling on business – she could handle that – Hermione asked, "What is this all doing here? Lily Potter was muggleborn, right? Why isn't this invested somewhere? Or – or is this just your liquid assets?"

Hermione looked to Harry for an answer. He looked to the trolley goblin.

"Gringotts is not a muggle bank." The way he said that last word made Hermione doubt the goblins considered muggle banks as actual banks. "What you put into a vault is what you take out."

 _So Gringotts is just a safe deposit box? Must be a cultural thing,_ Hermione idly commented in the back of her mind. It might be worth researching magical banking later to find out why some random muggleborn had yet to buy Magical Britain. _Come to think of it, what's preventing someone like Lord Malfoy from robbing the non-magical world blind?_

"Should I be doing something with it?" Harry asked, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. That he knew nothing whatsoever about finances was far from surprising. Not that Hermione could claim to know much more despite being a wealthy heiress herself.

"I don't know. Research first, then… I think Mum does our taxes. Ask her."

"Alright," Harry said with a smile and a nod, practically blindly trusting her with a fortune. That felt strange, in some illogical way. He and Hermione had trusted each other with their _lives_ before and, in all likelihood, would again in the future, as well. But this, it was just money.

"How much do you think we'll need today? I don't really know how much things cost in Diagon Alley. Ten galleons was enough for school supplies both this and last year; that's about all I know."

Hermione pulled herself out of her soul-searching to consider the question now that she knew they had no budget whatsoever.

 _Oh, Merlin, now I feel like a gold digger._ Hermione looked to Harry nervously, biting her lip. _But responsibility outweighs personal feelings. Besides, I'm already rich; it doesn't count._ "Harry, I feel…dirty just asking this, but how willing are you to spend galleons?"

Shrugging, Harry said, "One or two pyramids would probably last me the rest of my life. The rest doesn't do me any good if I'm not around to spend it."

 _That's a good, if grim, point. It doesn't make me feel any less like a leech, though. I'll just have to make sure I end up increasing his coffers in the long run._ "Fill it up." At Harry's confused look, she pointed to her empty bookbag hanging from Harry's shoulder. "The bag. We can put back whatever we don't use."

"Oh. That's kind of asking to robbed, though, don't you think?"

"Ah." Again, Harry had a good point. But then there had to be a means to transport that much gold safely when the need arose; it was beyond imagining that it never had. Then when asking the obvious question of who would know that means, there was the obvious answer: the person who took you to retrieve your gold. Hermione turned to the trolley goblin and asked, "How does one normally carry large amounts of gold around?"

"By guarded trolley between one vault and another." It was a practical answer, Hermione had to admit. "But if you wish to take it outside Gringotts, I would suggest a mokeskin pouch. Gringotts could provide one for a nominal fee."

Hermione cut herself off from asking further questions. It was Harry's money and his decision to make, and she was more willing than ever to give him carte blanche to do whatever with it. He picked up on the meaning behind her silence without prompting.

"Sounds fine," Harry said. "Could I get three, though?"

"Three?" Hermione asked.

The trolley goblin looked like Harry had just made his day. "Certainly, Mr. Potter. Would you care to wait here or in the lobby?"

"Here is fine," Harry said. The trolley goblin then stepped out and locked the vault behind him, most likely so Hermione and Harry would have no opportunity to steal from any other vault.

 _Maybe that's how Quirrelmort managed to break into Gringotts two years ago. He didn't seem particularly powerful at the time._ Hermione shook her head free of the stray thought. More importantly, she again asked, "Three, Harry?"

"One for you, one for me, and one for Ron."

"Harry, you don't even know how much they cost."

"I'm sure it's not that much. Besides, if they're secure enough for gold, they must be secure enough for other important things we might pass around. Like my father's cloak."

Hermione gnawed on her lip, silently mulling over how much she sometimes hated Harry, rare though those moments were. Worse, it was probably all her fault that he was even bothering to think about such perfectly valid security concerns.

"And you can carry books in it, too."

 _Curse that boy._ "I'm paying you back."

"Not a chance. Your money is no good here, Miss Granger. For every galleon you give me, I'll give two to Malfoy."

 _Yep. Really hate him._

Harry let out a long sigh. "Look, Hermione. This whole studying together, fighting evil, saving my skin thing isn't going to work if we can't share resources." A smirk grew on his face that turned into a toothy smile. "You have the brains, and I have the raw athletic grace and the charming smile, which won Witch Weekly's–"

"Stop, Harry. Just…stop." The mental images Hermione was getting were awful. One legitimate former infatuation imitating a foolish, shallow one was wrong in every sense of the word and then some. "Don't ever impersonate Lockhart again." As Harry laughed at her reaction, she said far more forcefully, " _Ever_."

"Okay, okay. I won't. But seriously, Hermione, this gold isn't really even mine."

"Of course it is, Harry. You're not thinking something daft like your parents would blame you for their deaths, are you?"

Sighing again, Harry walked over to one of the pyramids of gold and picked up a few galleons to twiddle between his fingers. "It's not that, Hermione. Where do you think my mum and dad got this from?"

Hermione cocked her head to the side, confused. "Presumably your paternal grandparents. I don't think the Evanses were particularly wealthy, but there's not much information on them available at Hogwarts for obvious reasons."

"And where did my grandmother and grandfather get it?"

Hermione scrunched her brows together in thought, trying to recall details she'd skimmed over in the library while searching for any living family members Harry had. Dorea Potter had been a Black before her marriage to Charlus, but Susan had recently reminded Hermione that the Blacks had lost most of their fortune to dragonfire.

"Your great grandfather Henry Potter married…um…she was the last of the Fleamonts. I don't think that was a marriage of convenience, but I assume Henry Potter held the greater wealth or political power, since otherwise you'd probably be Harry Fleamont or Fleamont-Potter."

Hermione noticed then that Harry was smiling at her like she was entirely missing the point. Indeed, he said, "You're overthinking things. What vault is this?"

"Vault 687," Hermione said. Harry gestured with his free hand to keep going, and that was what it took for her to have a good guess of the point Harry was trying to make. "The House Potter vault?"

"Exactly. I've always kind of felt this way, I suspect, but something Tonks said really got me thinking. Then after talking with Ron and Susan today… You know how Tonks said the old families wouldn't want to let their children go off to school too soon?"

"So they can internalise their family's values. Harry–"

Harry held up a hand to stop Hermione before she could even say anything. "Hermione, I don't know the first thing about being a Potter. There's no one left to teach me. If I were, say, Harry Malfoy" – Harry chuckled when Hermione's face scrunched up in disgust – " _then_ I would be out to reform the family anyway, and I wouldn't care, but the Potters weren't like that. I won't dishonour my parent's memories by refusing my inheritance. I'll proudly carry the name as best as I can while still being myself. But can you at least understand that I feel just as much like I'm spending gold that isn't mine as you do?"

"Yes," Hermione quietly said. She simultaneously resolved to help Harry reach out to people who'd known previous Potters. Hagrid loved to talk about James and Lily when he invited Harry down for tea, but he always spoke about them as James and Lily, not as Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Neville's grandmother might be a good place to start. Her son had gone to school with Harry's parents for a few years, and the Longbottoms were an ancient house like the Potters. Well, technically, the Longbottoms were a most ancient house, but it meant the same thing culturally, really, when considered apart from the Longbottom family's nobility.

But Hermione was being distracted. Cleverly, sure, but she was being distracted nonetheless. "You do realise, though, that that doesn't make me feel any better about this, right?"

Smirking, Harry said, "You'll get used to it eventually."

"Fine," Hermione sighed, conceding defeat.

"Also, I thought we'd agreed on your pay as my govern–"

Hermione lobbed a nearby galleon at Harry, which he easily caught and only made him more amused.

"But on the topic of secure storage, if you'll recall" – Harry pulled his holly wand out of his pocket and twirled it back and forth between his fingers in a rather surprising display of dexterity – "now seems like the ideal time to leave behind our Traced wands."

Withdrawing her own wand from her over-the-knee sock, Hermione handed it over to Harry to hide them together. "Thanks for remembering. I'd almost forgotten."

It was barely a minute after Harry had buried their wands in gold that the trolley driver returned with three leather bags no larger than his hand. He quickly explained their functionality, and naturally, he started by stating that there were absolutely no refunds. Each bag would be bound to – and only work for – its owner forever, or so the goblin claimed.

Fifteen or so minutes later, Hermione was distracting herself from how sick she _still_ felt from the trolley ride back up by experimenting with her very own mokeskin pouch. It grew and shrunk on command. It weighed no more than it had when empty despite being roughly eight-thousand galleons heavier. She could pull anything she put into it out just by asking for it. It was everything she'd ever wanted in a bookbag and then some, nevermind that it only held gold inside it.

Of course, there were limitations. There was a maximum volume and weight on the pouch, neither of which the trolley goblin had known offhand. But if half a metric ton of gold ran into neither, they seemed like far off concerns. Besides, a better answer than any absolute value would be how many books it could hold.

"Harry will never find out I actually used a book as a unit of measurement," Hermione swore under her breath.

Speaking of whom, Harry had ultimately decided to simply take one pyramid – _that_ was a unit of measurement now, apparently – of gold with them and had argued that it made more sense to split the sum between them, just in case. Hermione had been more than a little hesitant to carry around several hundred-thousand pounds of Harry's money, but if he was set on having so much gold on hand for whatever reason, then he _had_ had a good point.

In hindsight, Harry had had _a lot_ of good points lately. It was nice, Hermione decided, not to have to be _the_ voice of reason all the time. Sometimes a girl just wanted to play with her new toy and show off a new accessory.

"Hermione," her dad said. The three of them were waiting in the lobby off to the side while Harry finished some unknown business he'd brought up with the goblins in private.

Hermione once more poured into her pouch seven multicoloured galleons from her hand in the order that they appeared in a rainbow. She'd surreptitiously charmed them when she'd earlierly been bent over a rubbish bin and begging not to have to make use of it. How Harry managed to shrug off the trolley ride down and back up as if it were a peaceful carriage ride through the countryside, Hermione would never know. She could only hope that her body would hate her less as she grew.

"One moment, Dad. Seven coloured galleons." The words said, Hermione's rainbow collection of galleons shot back to her hand from her pouch. Frowning, she replaced them back in the pouch and gave up. Every time she pulled them out, it was always with a different ordering. Mokeskin pouches, she concluded, were random number generators.

 _At least it stacks the galleons for me when I take them out. That's convenient._ Shaking her head, Hermione turned her attention to her dad. "Yes? What is it?"

"How many galleons do you have in there?" Dan asked. So far, Hermione had let him see at least forty unique ones. Since order was not preserved, apparently, he'd technically very likely seen far, far more.

"Enough to buy a house," Hermione replied casually. Dan made a strangled choking sound. Her mum, on the other hand, quickly recognised it for the innocent prank that it was. The small upturn of Emma's lips gave it away.

"Hermione," her dad said, weak but recovering, "even if you and Harry don't plan to spend it all, or even more than a tiny percentage, you two shouldn't be carrying all of his money around. He's not closing his vault right now, is he?"

"I don't know what he's up to, Dad, but I'm sure it's not that. It turns out Harry has two orders of magnitude more money than I thought."

Emma chuckled at Dan's ever weaker and more concerned look, which drew a small smile out of Hermione. Or it did until Emma spoke, at least.

"You sure know how to pick 'em, Sweetie."

"Please, Mum. I don't need to feel any more like a gold digger than I already do."

Sniffing and wiping away imaginary tears, Emma said, "Oh, Dan, our little girl has grown up into a successful cougar."

"Mum!" Hermione whined, hiding her face behind her hands. She knew what Emma was after, but why couldn't her mum just tell her to let up and explain like a normal parent? Oh yes, Harry and Emma would get along _fabulously_. "I'm sorry, Dad. It wasn't _just_ a prank, though. We don't know how much we need for the summer, so Harry decided to take a pyramid."

"A – a pyramid?" Dan asked.

Hermione shrugged. "All of his galleons were stacked into pyramids. I don't know if that's Gringotts policy or if his parents or grandparents just had too much time on their hands."

"I see…"

"We're not planning to do anything…temerarious. You don't have to worry."

Dan looked placated enough at that. Shaking her head, Hermione went back to her experiments, only to furrow her brow in thought. It was far from the same, but her parents were both fairly disconnected from their cultural roots like Harry was. She'd never particularly considered herself anything but English, but maybe they had some insight to share.

"Mum? Dad? Do you ever feel like you don't really know where you came from?" Before Emma could say anything silly, Hermione added, "Culturally, I mean."

Dan shrugged and said, "Not particularly."

"Not very often," Emma said, "but your nan used to tell me stories of growing up in the Orkney Islands. At times I do regret that I've never been." Turning to Dan, she said, "Maybe we could take a short holiday there sometime this summer."

"If you'd like," Dan said. "Although… Hermione, how's Scotland this time of year?"

"Wet and changeable."

Emma laughed at the blunt way Hermione had phrased that. She then asked, "Is Hogwarts not protected from the weather?"

"It's always nice inside the castle, but everything else is natural."

"Well, I suppose it'd be better if we took you away from Scotland for the summer, anyway," Dan said. "Especially so if we'd be bringing Harry with us."

That last part sounded like a question, and Dan was looking at Hermione, so she smiled and nodded eagerly. "Please?" She and Harry could spend the whole day sequestered in his room at the Dursleys' for however long they needed to if it meant letting him have a proper holiday for once.

"Do you know if he has a passport?"

"Almost certainly not," Hermione replied. But the question rose a number of similar ones. "I'm pretty sure Harry officially exists in the muggle world. He went to a public school. I wonder where his birth certificate is…" Hermione resorted to gnawing on her lip as she thought about how she was going to get that precious little document away from the Dursleys without resorting to hexing. If they even had it, that was.

"Hermione?"

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts and looked up at her mum. "Ah, yes?"

"You were asking us about feeling culturally disconnected?"

Blushing – that had _completely_ fled her mind – Hermione said, "Oh. Yes. Well, Harry doesn't really know anything about his heritage. Either side, really. I'm not really sure how to talk to him about it. I was hoping maybe one of you would be able to relate to that more than I could and maybe–" Realising what she'd just said, she quickly added, "Not that I'm hoping either of you feel adrift in society! I just… Oh, you know what I mean."

Judging by the chuckling of her dad and her mum's outright giggling, they did know what she meant. Although Hermione's blush only worsened for their amusement, at least they took her words in good humour.

"Maybe later in the summer when we know him better, I can take Harry aside and bring it up," Emma said. Then, far less seriously, she added, "Not that we don't know him like a son already."

"Mum!" Hermione whined. It may be the case that her rather numerous letters home contained perhaps just a tad bit too much about Harry on occasion when the stars were aligned and the moon was full. Really, it was just _a little_ too much at times, nothing more.

Fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately, depending on one's perspective – Harry chose that moment to reappear. He approached from the far side of the lobby whilst calling out to her and her parents, apparently now done with his mysterious extra business.

And of course, being Hermione Granger, there was but one thing she could do when confronted with a mystery, nevermind that it also distracted everyone from anything embarrassing her mum might do otherwise. "Welcome back, Harry. What were you doing?"

"Nothing important. It's probably best left as a surprise for if you ever find out, though."

Hermione tried her best to quirk just one eyebrow. She saw practically every Slytherin do it at least once a week; it had to be easy enough. Luck was not with her today, however.

In response, Harry quirked _his_ eyebrow.

 _So unfair._

"Well then," Emma said, both arms wrapping around Hermione's shoulders from behind. "Are we all ready to get going?"

Hermione nodded, as did Harry. "Thanks for waiting for me, Dr. Gr" – Emma gave Harry _a look_ – "Emma."

"Excellent. The doctors Gremma are eager to explore Diagon Alley some more without the funny looks we get when we're here alone. Now, do we have a heading, or is it window shopping for us?"

Turning her attention back to Harry, Hermione said, "I was thinking big purchases first to get them out of the way. If we got a TARDIS for our potions room right away, we could store everything we bought inside of it." With Harry having already been initiated into the _Doctor Who_ fandom a little bit from her vivid retellings, she had no need to clarify.

"Sounds fine, although…" Harry said, glancing at her parents. "What if we all got new robes first? That way we won't draw, well, _as many_ 'funny looks'. It's inevitable around me, unfortunately."

Dan and Emma glanced at each other, and Emma nodded. Dan then said, "It helps less than you might expect, but so long as you're aware of how much time you have before stores close, that sounds like a fine idea. Hermione?"

"Yes, let's get going," Hermione said, trying not to pout. She really, _really_ wanted to get her magic police box, but she supposed she could be patient a little while longer.

"You have your sketch of a police box for after, right?" Harry asked.

"Of course! And the interior, too!" _As if I would, or even_ could _, forget._ Hermione ignored the silent chuckling of her dad and her mum's less than subtle snickering. Such hypocrites, they were. It was their fault she loved the series to begin with.

"Then lead the way."

"Great!" Hermione said, her excitement already bubbling to the surface. It was entirely possible that she wanted a TARDIS more than she'd ever wanted anything else in her life. Although now that she had one to play with, a mokeskin pouch ranked as a close second. They were both very similar, though, so perhaps it was fair to lump them together.

Either way, the sooner they got their robes, the sooner they could get their magic box. Hermione grew ever more impatient as she dragged Harry forward faster and faster by the arm into the depths of Diagon Alley.

* * *

 **A/N:** The next chapter will be the last in the "Best Friends" act and will bring us into the beginning of the summer holiday. Chapter Six will be a bit longer than usual, averaging out with this interlude to be about the length of two chapters together. Expect it in about two weeks.

For those of you who might be concerned, this story won't contain the infamous 'shopping chapter', wherein Harry ± entourage go out and buy a bunch of stuff they never use again. JKR's description of Harry's clothing ultimately requires at least a passing reference to clothes shopping, but there's really no need for more unless it's plot relevant.

Thanks to my prereader Owen Hinds.


	7. Best Friends

**A/N:** JKR owns Harry Potter.

* * *

Act One - Best Friends  
Chapter Six - Best Friends

 _Why on Earth would anyone make a pot that hops?_

Hermione's brow furrowed in thought. It seemed pointless, really. A pot that hopped was a pot that held nothing. Of course, pointlessness was hardly anything new in the magical world.

Shrugging, Hermione pressed on into her new copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ – the original and much more expensive version, of course, not the muggle hating one. She further snuggled into her family's sitting room couch, burying her sore feet into the cushions. Exhausted from shopping in Diagon Alley and overfed from eating a late dinner in London, she intended to fully enjoy the many comforts of home.

In all honesty, it was nice being back in the muggle world, slow, restful. On the outskirts of Crawley, there was no danger, no surprises, no worries. The neighbours were rich, busy, and spent most of their time away in town or in London. Life was quiet. The worst that could happen would be a wild fox wandering out of the forest bordering the garden. How terrifying!

"Don't cross the streams," Dr. Egon Spengler said from the tele.

As promised, after her parents had left to do their own things, Hermione had sat Harry down, put _Ghostbusters_ in the VCR, and lain back to enjoy his reaction; that was more than half the fun of showing friends a movie, or so she'd heard.

Hermione was not disappointed. As she peeked over the top of her book, she proved unable to help the smile that found its way onto her face. It was rare enough to see Harry laugh hard enough to snort and gasp for breath, but here he was, rapidly approaching his third fit just tonight.

"Try to imagine all life as you know it stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light."

"Total protonic reversal."

"Right. That's bad. Okay. All right. Important safety tip. Thanks, Egon."

"Hermione," Harry said, poking at the sole of her foot currently residing on the couch next to him.

Hermione stopped pretending to be reading and not watching Harry's expressions and nonchalantly lowered her book.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione did her best to hide how much she enjoyed seeing him wheezing with his face flushed.

"You know that thing that happens when our spells hit each other?"

"It would be hard to forget."

"We should call that a protonic reversal!"

Hermione chuckled to herself and let her smile show. "I was only making a joke at the time, you know."

"But it's still perfect!"

"Well, it could be more magical sounding. Maybe substitute protonic for a similar sounding word?"

Harry thought for a few seconds, his attention clearly split between the movie and his task. But then his face showed a flash of inspiration. "Spell-magic reversal!"

"Alright, Harry. So you say it, so mote it be."

"Yes!"

 _It's actually pretty good,_ Hermione thought as Harry's attention drifted back to the movie. _Same number of syllables, rhymes, and isn't a made up word like 'spellonic'._

As the movie continued, Hermione went on trying to read her children's stories on the headmaster's cryptic recommendation while glancing up at some new expression Harry made every other second. Such futility it was. Really, the little snippets of magical culture were engrossing, but even Jane Austen would seem dull in comparison.

It took forever, but Hermione made it through _The Wizard and the Hopping Pot_. The lesson at the end boiled down to 'help those in need', which was fair enough, but the means of conveying that lesson to the protagonist were almost as bad as the original Grimm tales.

 _What kind of father leaves his son a device that mentally tortures him just to get a point across?_ Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump _was much better._ Hermione glanced up at Harry again to see an expression of unadulterated glee on his face. _Then again, I could've just been paying more attention on the drive home._

Hermione turned the page to start the next story.

 _The Tale of – this is it! The Tale of the Three Brothers._ As Hermione read the title, she frowned. Here eyes lingered on the curious illustration above the title. An equilateral triangle with an inscribed circle and the median drawn from the top vertex adorned the page. She swore she recognised that symbol from _somewhere_.

Shrugging off her sense of déjà vu – she was in no fit state to contemplate it now – Hermione dove into the tale as well as she could. Harry still posed a rather pleasant and constant distraction just across the couch, after all.

* * *

"Harry. Harry!" Hermione said with increasing alarm in her tone. She finally got his attention when she grasped his shoulder. He pried his eyes away from the tele to look at her. "Harry, I need to see your cloak."

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "It's in my trunk in the TARDIS."

"Here!" Hermione said, shoving the book she'd been reading into Harry's hands. "Read this!"

Before anything more could be said, Hermione vanished over the back of the couch and out the room. The thuds of her feet hitting the stairs came soon after. Curious, Harry glanced down.

 _What was she…_ Harry flipped a few pages back to find _The Tale of the Three Brothers_. The opposing page on the left had the most bizarre illustration he'd yet seen in the magical world, and he'd seen a lot. A cauldron with one human leg below it hopped around spilling who knew what while chasing a man around. _What on Earth is that girl reading?_

Turing back to the story Hermione presumably wanted him to read, Harry set to his task.

 _There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely road at twilight. In time, the three brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learnt in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure._

 _And Death spoke to them._

Harry sighed. _This is going to be one of_ those _stories. Two ironic deaths and a heavy-handed moral ahead. Huzzah._

Death was angry for some reason that the three brothers had chosen not to kill themselves by swimming across the river.

 _Sound logic, that._

Death congratulated the three brothers and offered them each a prize which would, presumably, lead to the downfall of the first two brothers but not the last, if Harry's sense for plotlines held true. He could admit that Hermione 'occasional reader' Granger would have a more sure guess.

The first brother asked for a wand that could never be beaten in a duel.

 _Yep. So very dead. Poisoned or killed in his sleep. Maybe both._

The second brother asked for the power to bring people back to life and received a stone that would accomplish the task.

 _What was that story we all read in primary school… Ah,_ The Monkey's Paw _. Did that end with – no, they wished the zombie away. Hmm… Probably death by zombie here._

Finally, the third brother made his request.

 _And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death._

Harry snorted. _Who would possibly think you can't trust the personification of death not to kill you?_

Putting the sarcasm aside, Harry read, _So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility._

Harry reread that last sentence.

* * *

Hermione flew into to the guest bedroom where Harry had placed his things. She ran over to a tiny blue police box, pulling out her rowan wand, and tapped the two together. The police box expanded to full size, and Hermione shoved the door open. Harry's trunk was just inside in what would likely become a sitting room.

 _Book. Book. Jumper. Robe. Socks. Trousers. Jim-jams. Dressing gown._ Hermione paused at that, not having thought Harry was shy enough to want one at school, but whatever. She threw it over her shoulder all the same. _Burnable. Burnable. More socks. Cloak!_

As delicately as she could be in a rush, Hermione pulled Harry's cloak out of the trunk and found an open space for her to spread it out, which was easy enough. They still needed to shop for furniture tomorrow, so there was plenty of room. Her eyes ran over the outside of the cloak.

 _Nothing._

Hermione flipped the cloak over to inspect the inside lining. One glance, then two, and there was nothing to be found.

Except stitched into the intricate pattern of the cloth so as to pass unseen at a casual inspection was a stylised triangle, inscribed within which resided a circle with the vertical median drawn. The symbol became apparent only when one stepped back and took in the whole cloak all at once.

Hermione took another unsteady step back. Her knees having given out on her as she went from relief straight back into her previous frenzy. She _had_ thought the cloak was a device of power but _not_ something that had faded into legend.

 _Oh, Merlin, why do we have this? This is probably worth more than all the gold in Gringotts!_

"Hermione, you don't think–"

Hermione shot to her feet at the sound of Harry's voice and spun toward him. Before he could so much as protest, she dragged him over and pointed out the symbol on the cloak.

"Harry! This is – it's – you have – this is – it's _the_ Cloak of Invisibility." Hermione had no idea if that was its actual name, but it sounded appropriate.

"Hermione, we don't know if it's really the one from the story. It's probably just a practical joke by the headmaster or something."

Shaking her head rapidly back and forth, Hermione said, "I researched invisibility cloaks. They're rare, and they don't last. Yours is an _heirloom_."

"We only have… Well, I suppose the headmaster wouldn't lie about that, even for a joke. Still, it could be a fake."

"Even if it were, it'd be _a really good fake_ and might as well be the real thing! This is like – like – like finding the Library of Alexandria intact and not burned down!"

Harry sighed and grabbed her hands. "Breathe, Hermione."

"Harry, don't you realise what this is? This is worth so much! Historically, magically, _and_ financially! What if we'd ripped it, or spilt a potion on it, or–"

"Hermione," Harry said forcefully. "Breathe. Your eyes are dilated."

 _Which probably means I'm not thinking clearly._ The thought completed even with everything else competing for scarce thinking time. Hermione forced herself to take deep breaths, only now noticing that her heart was racing and that she could feel the blood pulsing through her veins.

"Is everything alright in here?" Emma asked. Hermione looked over Harry's shoulder to see her poke her head inside the TARDIS, although her concern failed to hide the absolute glee on her face at being inside something bigger on the inside.

"I've got it, Doc – Emma. Hermione is just overreacting to something she learnt."

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from commenting on that and kept focusing on getting her heart rate back to something sane.

Emma hummed thoughtfully to herself, although at the moment, Hermione couldn't think of what that meant. "Alright. If you need anything, let me or Dan know."

"I'd like some more popcorn, if it wouldn't be a bother."

"Sure thing, Harry."

Once her mum was good and gone, Harry started talking at Hermione. "Listen. That cloak was already irreplaceable to me. It was my dad's, and presumably his dad's before him, and his dad's before that, and his mum's before that, further and further back. It's gotten snagged before without a problem; I don't think it's easy to destroy, let alone as fragile as you were implying. If it's real and I wanted to sell it for some reason, who would be able to pay a fair price? It's unsellable. The only thing I've ever worried over is someone stealing it, because I'm certainly not about to misplace it. Besides, what good is it if we don't use it?"

That last question was actually directed at Hermione, even if it was rhetorical. In response, she said, "None."

Harry smiled and let go of her hands. "Better?"

Nodding, a bit embarrassed, Hermione looked down to her feet. "Sorry for freaking out."

"No problem. Although now, thanks to you, I have to figure out how to work the VCR remote."

Hermione rolled her eyes at that petty complaint. She would take care of that for him if he turned out to be _that_ inept with technology.

"Still, I'm surprised you're this calm when you have a relic just lying on the floor over there."

"I do have _some_ self-control, you know," Hermione said.

"Of course. Of course. Come on back downstairs for now, then, and prove it."

Harry pulled on the sleeve of Hermione's blouse and led her back through the house like an indignant, lost housecat. Upon arrival, they found that her mum had already left a refilled bowl of popcorn on the couch for them and had paused their movie. Hermione passed on more popcorn, so Harry sat down with the bowl resting in his crossed legs.

As Harry fiddled with the wrong remote, he asked, "Did you read to the end?"

"Hmm? Oh, the story? No. I only made it to the invisibility cloak. Why?"

"The second brother committed suicide."

"Why? What happened with the stone?"

"Ah." Harry finally figured out he had the wrong remote and swapped it for the VCR one. From there, it was easy enough for him to find the rewind button. "The second brother brought back his fiancée, but he realised it wasn't really her. He was getting along just fine before, but apparently that was too much for him."

"Well, it _is_ a story with a moral in it. I thought he'd be eaten by a zombie."

That got a laugh out of Harry. "I did, too! Anyway, not that I'm holding out any hope of finding it, but do you think the stone is real?"

"Hmm…" Hermione felt a little odd at trying to fish truth out of a children's story, but they already had one artifact straight out of legend lying around upstairs. And the magical world _did_ have a tendency to forget things over time when families died out, like how to build Hogwarts, or create the Sorting Hat, or how to construct literally _every_ enchantment ascribed to Merlin. Most stories from the magical world were probably just fiction, but maybe, on occasion, they were a corruption of actual history.

"Probably," Hermione eventually said. "The wand as well. I suspect it's not terribly useful, though. The real stone probably just makes ghosts. Although…unless it makes a copy of everyone who's ever died since it was made, it probably can only use your own memories to make the ghost, or something like that, hence the second brother realising 'it wasn't really his fiancée'. It would fit with the story if the wand and stone were imperfect relics while the cloak was perfected."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too." Harry let out a long sigh. "You know, no one bothered to tell me that ghosts and portraits weren't, you know, people. Although, I suppose Binns should've made that obvious, since the only thing I've ever learnt from him is that goblins don't want to talk to you, and you don't want to talk to them, so make your business short." Harry paused there like he was waiting for something.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"No Professor Binns?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Professor Binns."

Smiling like all was right with the world, Harry said, "It wasn't until we went to Sir Nicholas's deathday party that I figured out something dodgy was going on. Half the ghosts that I'd _just_ introduced myself to would forget me. Half of them only spoke a version of English I couldn't understand. None of them are the vast reservoirs of knowledge you'd expect someone six centuries old or more to be. None of them could share any meaningful information that wasn't about their own personal life. They haven't…haven't changed, I suppose. They're…static."

"I can only tell you to read _Hogwarts: A History_ so many times." Though she said that, Hermione meant nothing by it. Now that she was older, she could admit it was a bit dry for most tastes.

Harry snorted as if the idea of him reading the book were a joke. "No, it's like you said before, Hermione. No one bothers to tell us this stuff because they assume we already know it. I'm sure we do the same thing to them."

"I've never actually thought of it like that, not explicitly," Hermione said, feeling just a tad bit guilty. Daphne knew a fair amount about the muggle world, as did Susan to some extent, and so did the headmaster; those were the types of people Hermione tended to gravitate toward. But then there were others like the Weasleys, who were hopelessly lost when it came to muggles and often dismissive. The latter were probably in the vast majority on an unbiased sample of the population. "Ever since I found out I was a witch, I've always thought of Magical Britain as just another part of the UK, just with magic instead of electricity. I suppose that makes me just as bad."

"No, you admit it. That makes you slightly better."

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Glad we got that all sorted out."

"It's not just that, though. I bet we do it to each other, too, just not often enough for it to matter or for us to notice. Like I had no idea you thought of yourself as a fiddler instead of a violinist. I knew you played but not what. I'd assumed that a well-to-do, intelligent girl like yourself would be more into the classics."

Hermione picked her legs up and spun herself so that she was facing Harry on the couch like she had been earlier. "Is this your subtle way of saying you want to browse through _all_ of my memories over the summer? I think some _very_ unflattering things about you sometimes, you know."

"No, no," Harry said with a wave of his hand. "I don't really have an opinion either way on that, although you probably don't want to see most of mine. I'm sure you'd feel offended by some of my thoughts, too, though. Your work ethic gets to be _really_ annoying at times. But I guess what I wanted to ask was do you think the stone _could_ work?"

"Do you mean, 'Do you think there's an afterlife?'"

Harry shrugged. "If you want to think of it that way, sure."

"Well, if you mean it more in the sense of if you could make a robotic or magical duplicate of someone, I don't see why not. Humans are just a bunch of atoms stuck together. It's _conceivable_ the stone could be a perfected ghost-maker, like your cloak is a perfected invisibility cloak. But if you're asking if you could conjure someone's soul, or essence, or whatever from somewhere else, then no, I don't think that could work. Mum and Dad would say the same, if you asked. It would be a pleasant surprise to be proven wrong, though."

"That it would," Harry agreed, nodding.

"I'm not sure what the magical world thinks, but what about you? I never thought to ask before." _Which I suppose is what Harry was getting at earlier._

After a few moments of silence, Harry said, "I know that at least some magicals think there's an afterlife. The headmaster calls it 'the next great adventure'."

"And you?" Hermione asked again. It was only after she'd taken his near hand in both of hers and asked once more that he found his voice.

"Growing up with the Dursleys…" Harry began after a few moments, but he stopped there before trying again. His tone was uncomfortably detached and hollow as he spoke. "I was never part of the family. I honestly don't even know if they're religious. It'd be kind of silly if they were when they know any witch or wizard could easily replicate every miracle from any religion with enough practice, but I wouldn't put it past them. So until I got to Hogwarts, no. It wasn't even a concept in my head. I vaguely remember thinking I was dying when I was really young and being happy everything was about to be done forever."

"Harry…"

Harry shook his head. Somehow, some of his usual warmth returned to his voice, if only for a moment. "Things got better. Especially these last two years. It's over and done with."

A moment passed in silence as Harry tapped his index finger against the rim of his popcorn bowl. Just when Hermione tried to say _something_ , he continued.

"When I got to Hogwarts, I saw ghosts. Dead people just…floating around. I mean, they obviously weren't _dead_ dead, since they were talking to me. I asked questions. Just – just not the right ones.

"I'd have said yes then. That I'd somehow gotten the wrong idea that death was the end. But now? No. After last Halloween, the only thing I had that was, as you would say, evidence for _an_ afterlife went away. Ghosts weren't actually lost souls wandering the earth. They were just…just chattering robots with a little bit of memory."

Harry's gaze fell into his bowl of popcorn and stayed there. His voice grew quiet as he said, "And…it hurt too much to keep thinking otherwise without a reason."

 _No…_

After a false start, Harry said, "I mean, if – if there _was_ an afterlife, I was _choosing_ not to go home to Mum and Dad. And just because I suddenly had friends I would miss, too. It's not like I wouldn't see you or Ron again, eventually, if there were. I felt so guilty and cowardly whenever I thought about it. I…"

Sniffing, Harry rubbed at his eyes, one after another. Hermione quietly mirrored the action, floundering for anything to say to that confession.

"Sorry," Harry said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm being depressing. I don't know where that came from."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but she had no words. All she could think of to do was to squeeze Harry's hand as tightly as she could, refusing to ever let him drift away. When she did, he looked up from his popcorn with a small, grateful smile that almost broke her heart.

"I… Well… My turn." Hermione fumbled with words while she decided on how to steer the conversation, because she still had _no idea_ what to do with what Harry had confessed. It was a terrifying idea, really. If people _knew_ there was something waiting for them after death, not just believed it, but actually _knew_ , what then would the world be like? An old joke she half-remembered her dad's friends making while playing some silly roleplaying game came back to her.

"We mortals know that when we die, it's not the end," Hermione's dad's friend had said. "We come and go with resurrection spells like we were going off on holiday. Hell, they've got a revolving door installed at the gates. That's why we're so cavalier with our lives. It's different for you. When you die, poof, you're gone for good."

A shiver ran down Hermione's spine as she thought back over the past two years, comparing this one to the previous. She had to wonder if some part of Harry _still_ believed that death had little consequence.

 _No_. Hermione shook her head. _He wouldn't still be here if he'd ever truly believed that. That's why he's still here with that sad, little smile on his face._

Adequately reassured, Hermione decided on her own question to pose. Talking about the future – a future that required a live Harry as a prerequisite – seemed like as good a choice as any. "Harry, we've never talked about what we want to do with our lives. I know we're still young, but what do you want to do when you grow up?"

"I don't know. I've been trying to be more responsible and mature, but that isn't something I've given much thought to. By the time Quirrelmort is gone" – Hermione smiled at the lack of an if in that – "I'll probably be overspecialised in combat, so an auror or nothing, I guess."

"Harry, after that much fighting, would you really want to keep on doing it? Keep risking the life that you managed to keep? It might be _a_ right thing to do, but there are other ways you could make a difference, if that's what you want. You're rich, smart, and the Potter name has a lot of weight behind it, even though it's not a noble house. Your great grandfather, Henry Potter, served on one of the few non-hereditary seats in the Wizengamot, even. You could turn all that to anything you wanted, certainly something that would have a greater impact than a lone auror. Besides, we have long lifespans. It's not like you couldn't pick up something entirely new at twenty-five, or even forty or sixty or eighty."

"That's… That's going to take some getting used to."

"I know what you mean. I'm still struggling with the idea that people in Magical Britain _expect_ to meet their great, great, great grandchildren, barring illness or war. It's weird, isn't it?"

"Definitely." Harry nodded with the same far-off expression in his eyes that Hermione remembered once having herself. Even now, it was still a strange thought that dying at sixty or seventy was considered _tragically_ early in the magical world. "Although…"

"Although what?" Hermione asked.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, clearly nervous. "To be honest, I might actually enjoy the 'or nothing'. I have the money to get away with just doing whatever for the rest of my life. Meet someone nice. Get married. Raise kids. Find a hobby. Hide from my fangirls. That kind of stuff."

Eyebrows raised, Hermione asked, "You want to be a househusband?" Granted she expected him to want to have a family, but Harry had always acted more restless than the kind of peaceful life that would give him. It was hard to see him not going stir crazy. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, but… _you_?"

"No, not particularly. I'm barely going on thirteen, Hermione. As I said, I haven't really thought about the future. I was just saying I _might_ enjoy it. Teaching might not be so bad, either, if I could get a job at Hogwarts."

"Now that I can see. With Madam Hooch's job, you could fly around playing all day and call it work." Harry sent a glare Hermione's way. Having had her fun, her next words were more serious, if still teasing. "Hogwarts is probably one of the best places to influence the distant future, too, I suppose, given the type of children who attend it. You know, if you're into that sort of thing."

Despite his earlier glare and Hermione's gentle ribbing, Harry actually stopped to think about that. "You know," he eventually said, still lost to the world, "I really might enjoy that. Not necessarily flying class, but just teaching at Hogwarts in general." His eyes refocused, and his gaze fell onto her with an accompanying grin. "I could teach your kids everything you don't want them to know, too."

"Don't you even think about it."

"Too late. I already did. If you want to stop me, you'll have to get a job there, too, to fight the evil Professor Potter over them." Harry then did his best impression of a maniacal laugh, which was really not that great. He needed to get past puberty to be taken seriously.

"You prat," Hermione said through her giggles. "If that's really something you think you might want to do, though, then you really should try your best to get your A Levels with me legitimately without magic. You could go to uni and learn how to teach, if you do decide to pursue a professorial position. I bet whoever is headmaster at the time would hire you on the spot."

"Fair enough. I guess that means I can't complain when you work me like a dog this summer." Harry faked a groan, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"By the way, what subject would you want to teach, if not flying?"

Harry hesitated to answer and looked away. "Do you promise to be mature about it if I tell you?"

"Only if it's not nap time."

"Well, there goes that idea," Harry said, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. "No, Professor Binns can keep his job. I don't want it. If I did get a position at Hogwarts, though, I think I'd want, well, runes."

Hermione could hardly believe her ears. "Did you say runes?"

"Yes, I like the subject. Thanks for forcing me to sign up for it." That topic _could_ have been shunted aside more forcefully, but only with ten tonnes of explosives. Even so, a grin snuck onto Hermione's face as she considered how much _fun_ she was going to have with that little admission. "Now what about you? What's Hermione Granger's grand plan for the world?"

"Oh, no, no, no. You don't get to say that and just pretend it never happened."

"You promised you were going to be mature about this," Harry said adorably sullenly. Oh, it must be _so awful_ to admit there was something about school he genuinely enjoyed.

Hermione put on an innocent smile. "I am. I won't say, 'Welcome to the bookworm club,' or, 'I told you so,' or anything like that."

"You mean besides _just now_."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said with a songish lilt to her voice. She hoped it was as annoying to him as motivating Harry to do well in school had once been a chore for her.

"Uh-huh. Right."

"Truly, I don't. Now what is it that draws you to the subject? What is it that makes you long to spend all day in a workshop? What is it that–"

"Enough, Hermione."

"Oh, fine. Take all the fun out of it." Hermione slumped back into the couch with an exaggerated pout. "But seriously, though. Why runes?"

After a lot of grumbling, Harry finally deigned to respond. "It's like the difference between being given a bin of Legos and a box of tools. The tools are nice, but by the time you've picked up your fiftieth slightly different hammer, they've gotten pretty annoying. The Legos have fewer distinct parts you can rearrange into anything you like if you only take the time to."

"Which promptly falls apart the first time you use them as a hammer."

Harry sent a glare Hermione's way and said, "You know what I meant," which only made her laugh. "Anyway, what's your plan for the future, then, that you asked?"

"Well," Hermione began slowly, deciding to spare Harry any further grief for the moment, "I do have to admit that teaching would probably be nice and relaxing. But unless I become a war heroine or reinvent the philosopher's stone, I doubt a good school would hire me with the way things are now. Maybe Hogwarts, if Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick were in charge. I really like charms, and I think I might end up liking arithmancy and possibly runes even more, but I'm not sure how well I'd get on with teaching any of them. I'm not sure how well I'd take to reciting the same material over and over, you know. I wouldn't rule it out, though."

"Don't forget that you'd have ready access to a library."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, that too. I actually talked about this with Daphne a bit before the year ended. I think I'm going to end up in politics to try and make it less embarrassing to admit I live here. We really need some equal rights legislation. Muggleborn have it the most _visibly_ worst right now, but when Quirrelmort and his Death Eaters truly fall, things should get a lot…well, not good. I'm not that naive. But tolerable.

"Every other species has it almost as bad or worse, though, and it's not just a problem with influential blood purists in the ministry. Goblins can't have wands. Centaurs are confined to the Forbidden Forest. Veela are so discriminated against here, their population numbers in the single digits. There are a lot more werewolves than veela, but they're essentially unemployable with all the hate and fear. Elves are kept as slaves. Squibs are often treated as _less_ than not a person. Muggles are more or less regarded as adorable animals, even by most people we're friendly with. It's awful, and except for Magical France's bizarre acceptance of veela, it's not any better abroad, as far as I can tell."

"If that's what you end up doing, you'll always have the backing of the Potters and the Boy-Who-Lived. That should help a lot."

Hermione paused for a moment, almost afraid to ask. "You'd do that for me?"

Harry shrugged. "I've accepted that I'm stuck in the limelight. I'm resigned to it. You were right about that. I don't have a choice beyond if the world sees the extraordinary Harry Potter or the…um…ah, the statistical anomaly, the Boy-Who-Lived. If someone I care about wants to bask in that light as well, that's perfectly fine with me. Heh. Maybe you'll block everyone's view."

"Even then, thank you, Harry. That means a lot to me."

Harry shrugged again as if to say it was nothing, which it very much was not. "Out of curiosity, what did Greengrass say about that?"

"Well, to be honest, I don't think she really cared one way or another. She more or less told me to do whatever so long as I don't destroy the world."

"Blast! I'll have to cancel my doomsday projects, then."

Hermione merely snickered at that, trying to play the joke straight. "Oh, no, Mr. Potter, you need only place them on hold. Once we are victorious, we can then, as they say, trim the fat."

"Ah, but of course," Harry said with a strange and ridiculous accent. "An excellent plan, my dark lady. Excellent indeed. Once we first conquer the world, it shall then be ours to destroy at our leisure. Yes, a cunning scheme. One worthy of any Slytherin, even Salazar himself. Nay, it is beyond even him. No one before or after could ever hope to match our villainous genius."

"Oh, Merlin, Harry," Hermione said between laughs. "I can't take you seriously when you talk like that."

"Yes, that, too, is all part of the plan. Most unbalancing, is it not? My suave and immaculate demeanour confuses my opponents so that I might take them by surprise. I have long contemplated adding tie-dye or polka dots to my ensemble as well, but I fear it would be at odds with my rugged countenance."

"Harry, stop! I can't – it's too much."

"I cannot, my dear. I've fallen too far. And you shall join me! Succumb to the darkness, and I shall recreate those blackberry scones from Hogwarts you love so much."

"Harry! Please!"

"A few days. That's all it would take. A few days within my laboratory performing the darkest of experiments to sate your…lust."

"Harry!" Hermione said, dragging the name out in protest as best as she could.

"Oh, very well," Harry said. Hermione could hear him chuckling at her unceasing giggle fit. "It's my turn, then, I believe. Hmm…"

Five handfuls of popcorn vanished while Harry pondered his question, four from him and one from Hermione, who had given into temptation after recovering.

"Alright, this is one that was making its way around my floor at the end of the year, except less…"

 _Well, it's a boys room on the cusp of puberty, so_ "less crass?"

Harry blushed a bit and turned his head away. "Yes, well, some of the boys in our year are a little…"

"Superficial? Immature?" Hermione suggested. _I've got a bad feeling about this…_

"Yeah… Anyway, what kind of person do you see yourself ending up with?"

Hermione let out a quiet sigh of relief, glad that Harry hadn't asked to whom she'd first taken a fancy or anything similar. With that worry behind her, she smirked. "I hope you didn't say someone with large breasts and a nice bum."

"Please," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not Ron."

"You know, I can't say I'm surprised he'd say that. He still has a lot of growing up to do." A thought occurred to Hermione. "No, I take that back. I _am_ surprised. The way he acts around me sometimes, I kind of expected him to still be in the 'girls are icky' phase."

"No, not since he saw Alicia Spinnet–" Quoting Hagrid word for word, Harry said, "I shouldn't have told you that."

"No, you shouldn't have." If there was any flaw whatsoever in the Gryffindor girls' privacy, Hermione would find it and have it dealt with. "I'll interrogate you about that later, I'm sure. But anyway, I actually gave this _a lot_ of thought near the end of first year. I don't necessarily need someone as smart as me or who likes learning and reading as much, but I can't really see myself with someone who I can't meet as an intellectual peer. I think I'd feel like I'd have to constantly filter my words to a lower level, even if I didn't actually _have_ to. Does that make any sense?"

Nodding, Harry said, "Yeah, I get it. Basically, you want someone who can contribute to one of your lectures and critique your thoughts. Or at least someone you can use as a springboard for ideas, right?"

"Yes, exactly! Fay Dunbar actually managed to pull me into 'girl talk' once this year, and I feel like she didn't really understand."

"She does seem more the well-toned muscles and chest hair type," Harry said, idly eating another few kernels of popcorn. "Is that it?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's the most important part, but not the _only_ part. I think after that, the second most important thing is I'd want to be friends first, then lovers. Not necessarily chronologically, but… Well, I told you how I feel about friends and family. I don't want to ever reach the point where I feel like the relationship and love is just expected to be there. Mum, Dad, and I all work hard to make sure we don't fall into that kind of habit. I know they'll always love me, but you should see the effort they go to to understand the magical world and me better. I mean, _it's_ _magic_. They'd have to be completely mad not to be interested, but still. I can actually talk _with_ them, you know?"

"I think I'm jealous enough as is without imagining that, thank you."

After first checking Harry's expression to make sure he was just joking, Hermione smiled. "Besides those two, I think the only other thing that I _really_ care about is that we have enough in common so that we'd always have something to do together."

"So not Ron, I take it?"

"Ew! Merlin, Harry! How would that even make any sense? We're at each other's throats half the time."

Harry shrugged. "I don't really get it either, but Mrs. Weasley described you two as 'like an old married couple'."

"Yeah, an old married couple six months away from a divorce. Relationships aren't built on arguing, Harry. Honestly, where–"

Harry shoved a kernel of popcorn into Hermione's mouth with a finger. Once she got over the surprise, she sent a half-hearted glare his way.

"Yes, I know. I'm just telling you what Mrs. Weasley said last summer. To be honest, I think she just wants you as part of the family. It's not hard to see why, even despite how little time you've spent in her presence."

Hermione bit her lip to keep herself from saying anything too mean on impulse, no matter how insensitive and horrible Ron could be as such _to her_. She also added this latest bit of information to her mental list of alarming – and yet apparently unremarkable – facts about Mrs. Weasley. Bad relationship advice now had a spot of honour between publicly humiliating her children with howlers and hitting her children with a broom when angered.

For now, though, Hermione focused on the matter of Ron. Ten years from now, she would probably look back on this moment with regret if she let this opportunity go by. She was tired of Harry taking his social cues from Ron, and even though that was changing, far better it would be to nip this one in the bud right now – for both of them.

"Harry, can I give you a bit of feminine perspective in confidence?"

"That sounds very dangerous."

Hermione nudged Harry with her foot.

"But go ahead."

"Okay. I'm going to be very blunt here in the hope that, as a fellow boy, you can help Ron help himself without him really noticing. He barely ever listens to me, so it's all on you."

"I'm already regretting agreeing to this."

Hermione forced her laughter down and focused on giving a delivery that would, with any luck, not put Harry between her and Ron any more than he already tended to be.

"I've already said that Ron has a lot of growing up to do, so maybe take this with a grain of salt, okay?" Once Harry tentatively nodded, Hermione continued, "From a romantic prospective, Ron is…not that great. He's not especially smart. He's not especially handsome. He's not especially suave, although he _is_ funny when he's not disparaging others to be so. He's not especially sensitive."

Harry snorted in agreement at that, drawing a smile and a chuckle out of Hermione.

"He's not especially talented at anything except chess, nor does he try to be. He's not especially rich or filled with prospects. He's never impressed upon me that he'd be an especially good father figure, but again, he has a lot of growing up to do. I _can_ say that he's very brave, but that's not something that leads to an enduring relationship. To speak to his character as he grows, I've noticed that he seems to be getting over his jealousy issues–"

"His what?" Harry interrupted.

"I think," Hermione began, choosing her words slowly and carefully, "that to other boys, it might just sound like the usual familial tensions. But to the Gryffindor girls, at least, Ron sounds very jealous of his brothers' various achievements when he talks or complains about them. It's not an attractive personality trait. It really doesn't help that he attends a school with mostly well-to-do children and he's…not. But like I said, Ron seems to be getting over that, probably because of the recognition he's been getting from your misadventures. Granted we'll have to wait and see how he reacts when the adventures end or when he can't be part of them, but–"

Harry held up his hand. "Sorry. Can you give me a couple minutes to…review?"

Hermione kept her smile off of her face. While she probably should have expected better of him, it still surprised her that Harry was taking this seriously and not dismissing it. "Of course. I _am_ passing responsibility off to you, after all. Take all the time you need."

"What did I agree to?" Harry said dramatically, shaking his head. After that, he sunk deep into thought. Popcorn disappeared as he idly pecked at it, but Hermione herself resisted further temptation this time. Finally, he said, "Alright. Continue."

Shrugging, Hermione said, "There's not much left to say. I could tell you about his horrible table manners, but that's probably a lost cause until he starts pursuing a girl and she refuses to talk to him because of them. In all honesty, there's nothing _particularly_ wrong with Ron, provided you're not me or a Slytherin, but there's nothing particularly endearing, either. He's the kind of boy a girl settles for. And that, dear Harry, is the unvarnished female perspective. Help him if you can, because I sure can't."

Harry sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

"Godspeed," Hermione said, saluting Harry. "You're a braver man than I."

"Not terribly hard, that, is it?"

"No, I suppose I am rather lacking in a prerequisite."

"So," Harry said after he and Hermione were done laughing. He paused there until she looked him in the eyes. "I take it you've been trying, then?"

"Ugh. Not for any romantic interest, if that's what you're insinuating," Hermione replied disdainfully, ignoring Harry's teasing smirk. "If I was going to put that much effort into finding a boyfriend, I'd start with someone who I don't constantly argue with."

"Fair enough. I'll check you for a love potion if you ever start crushing on him, then. Love potions exist, right?"

"In varying levels of potency, yes, but I _really_ doubt Ron would ever do that. He's a prat, but he's not a rapist."

Shrugging, Harry said, "I'm not saying it'd be him; I wouldn't believe that, either. But I hear teenage drama is distracting. A few love potions here and there to get Hermione Granger to turn off her brain, and that's me in a right mess. I outsource entirely too much of my thinking to you."

Hermione giggled at the ridiculous mental images Harry had evoked. It was a very surreal picture to imagine herself pining after some boy with her head in the clouds, as was the idea of him _literally_ outsourcing his thinking. But as silly as that was, Harry _had_ brought up something that needed to be addressed. Teenage drama _was_ distracting, as well as easily overlooked and dismissed.

"Harry, if I do get involved in any type of relationship, please do check me for every potion and charm you know of, regardless of who it's with. Even if it's _you_." Hermione smirked as she further embarrassed Harry by adding, "I understand how much a boy enjoys kissing a girl, but do show some restraint."

Obviously doing his best to be just as casual about this, Harry quirked an eyebrow and asked, "And you know this how?"

"Because it's just as much fun for the girl." Knowing _exactly_ the quip Harry was no doubt about to send her way, Hermione added, "And no, I haven't been going around kissing boys."

"Tch."

Hermione smirked, victorious, at having gotten ahead of Harry on that one. "But seriously, Harry, I'd be both devastated and mortified if I lost you to such a simple trick. Both of us need to be careful. The most insidious thing about almost all love potions is that you _don't care_. Once you take one dose, you'll gladly take another with a smile on your face. They're basically the imperius curse in a bottle."

"Alright. I'll force a bunch of antidotes down your throat when you start dating, then. But you're not allowed to get mad or feel insulted when I do."

Hermione thought about making a sarcastic remark in return, but she decided against it. She really did want Harry to take this seriously. Before Hogwarts's rather brief sex-ed class, Madam Pomfrey took each girl aside – muggleborn girls, especially – as soon as she was old enough for the information to be relevant and both gave her a _long_ lecture about avoiding sexual assault in the magical world and started her on the contraceptive draught – no exceptions. Between stunning spells, memory charms, love and lust potions, the imperius curse, compulsion charms, and more besides, there was no excuse for anyone who'd reached sexual maturity not to take basic precautions.

"I won't. Or if I do, or if I say I've already checked myself, then tie me down and double- and triple-check me."

"That might send the wrong signal to your hypothetical boyfriend," Harry said. After a few moments to process his meaning, Hermione blushed and buried her face behind her curled up legs. She should, perhaps, have chosen her exact words with a little more care. "I understand what you meant, though. You'll do the same for me, too, right?"

"Harry, whether you like it or not, in a couple years or so, you will literally be the most eligible bachelor in Magical Britain. There's _no way_ I would _ever_ let you date someone without first making sure your feelings were genuine."

Shaking his head, Harry said, "I'm not even going to debate that. Talk about walking into an obvious trap. But alright. I'll check you before you let your out of control hormones ruin your life." Hermione delivered a much deserved kick to Harry's leg, not that it stopped him. "Before the wedding, too, if applicable. And when I see you cheating to get Ron onto the Quidditch team, I'll stun you and drag you off to the infirmary."

Hermione rolled her eyes but, in her benevolence, kept her foot to herself. "Harry, if I ever do that, lock whoever that is away for an hour, because they're using polyjuice. I might…bend–"

"Break," Harry corrected, earning Hermione's best glare in her gratitude.

"– _bend_ the rules when it's important, but the only 'cheating' I'll ever condone is that wand I gave you. Honestly. Me, cheating. Next I suppose you'll suggest I'd start flinging ritual magic around just for the fun of it."

Eyebrow raised, Harry said, "The sacrificial stuff?"

"Yeah. I've not read much about the subject, but it all sounds as dreadful as muggle fiction makes it out to be. Powerful, but dreadful."

"Well," Harry said, "if it were a choice between a dying friend and an evil virgin sacrifice…"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Just saying," Harry began. "If _I_ were lying on the floor next to you, dying, and the only way to save me was to sacrifice the person who'd put me in that state, I'd hope you'd find it a fair trade."

Hermione rolled her eyes again.

"Urk!" Harry collapsed dramatically onto his side, curling about his popcorn bowl. His hand, shaking, rose up pleadingly. "Hermione," came his trembling voice. "Please. Save me."

"Oh, honestly, Harry." Hermione slapped the back of Harry's hand, rolling her eyes one last time. "When did you ever become such a clown?"

"Hmm… Shortly after the rest of me caught up with my brain and realised you're safe to have fun with." Before Hermione could say anything, Harry added, "No, no. None of that. I've already been depressing enough for the both of us for tonight. That didn't come out right, anyway. But is that it, then? We kind of got off topic, but no concern about looks?"

Once she'd recalled what they'd been talking about earlier, Hermione said, "Well, I won't pretend good looks don't help, but I'm not too picky. I don't put any effort in there myself, and I'm not physically beautiful like Daphne, so I can't really complain."

"I'm sure you'll grow into your looks, if that matters at all to you, much like I hope I do, too," Harry said, holding out his honestly rather scrawny arms. "You look a lot like your mum, just smaller."

Hermione passed on the opportunity to tease Harry about calling her mum beautiful, or pretty, or whatever he actually thought, especially since he was probably just being nice.

 _No. Not turning into Lavender Brown._ Instead of letting herself wallow in shallow, frivolous concerns, Hermione asked, "What about you? What do you want?"

Harry shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it much, to be honest. It wasn't that long ago for me that girls were just boys with longer hair and a mysterious obsession with giggling. I definitely know I don't _ever_ want to have to wonder if whoever I'm with is really seeing me, though. I can deal with the occasional Boy-Who-Lived moments from friends, but not with a lover. I think even one hint of that, and it'd be over."

"Date muggle or muggleborn, then," Hermione said. "You won't have to worry about it at all that way. Leaving the UK might work, too."

"Honestly, Hermione, dating muggle sounds…hard. You'd have to be so secretive until you got married, and then you'd suddenly dump _magic_ on your partner. That could ruin everything then and there, and then you'd say, 'Oh, by the way, our kids might all be magical and live in a world you'll have a difficult time interacting with.'"

"They wouldn't be."

"Who wouldn't be what?"

"Your kids. Unless you had kids with someone who turned out to be a squib, they'd all be squibs."

Harry paused, clearly confused and wordlessly asking how she knew that.

"If you don't believe in blood purism, you have to believe in something else." Hermione bit her lip, thinking over that little fallacy. "Okay, you could just say you don't know, but presumably you'd want a theory to prove the opposition wrong.

"Mum and Dad are both as disgusted with blood purism as I am, so they looked into it. To begin with, it's clear that possessing magic is in some manner hereditary. At just a casual glance, a witch and a wizard produces a witch or wizard at least ninety-five percent of the time, and almost no muggles produce a magical child.

"Now, if blood purism is wrong, you'd expect to see two things. One, no correlation between a witch's or wizard's magical strength and their parents'. That's not easy to test directly, however. There are _a lot_ of variables that would have to be controlled for. But two, we expect to see a simple explanation for magical inheritance, rather than the more complex inheritance schemes blood purists support.

"As a quick check, Mum and Dad determined that they're both squibs, not muggles. From a mundane, biological perspective, then, the _obvious_ alternative explanation is that being magical, squib, or muggle follows a Mendelian pattern, and if you look at _honest_ family trees, you'll find that that _is_ the case. We don't know if it's actually responding to the presence of physical genes, though."

Interrupting her perfectly good lecture – thankfully without snapping his fingers in her face – Harry said, "Hermione, wait. I'm not following. A what pattern?"

Hermione bit back her sigh. "Do you know anything about DNA?"

"Not really. Just that it exists."

"Remind me to add basic biology to the list of things to teach you. Okay, basically, you can get one 'magic gene' from your mum and one from your dad. If you get both, you're magical. If you get one, you're a squib. If you get none, you're a muggle. A witch and a wizard always produces a magical child. Two muggles _never_ produce a magical child.

"Of course, as I mentioned, beyond simply being magical, everyone has varying levels of magic they can…store, or access, or whatever, before ending up magically exhausted, so there's something more going on somewhere somehow than just a single signal saying magical or not magical. That's probably why blood purism isn't dead and buried, unfortunately. But if you're magical or not is very predictable. So, yes," Hermione concluded, "if you marry a muggle, your children will all be squibs."

Only now that her lecture was finished, Hermione noticed that Harry had a stunned look on his face. Chuckling to herself, she said, "Yes, it really is that simple, Harry. But to be fair, even muggles have only really _noticed_ there were patterns like that in the last century. _Everyone_ was breeding thoroughbred horses long before then, though."

"Huh," Harry said.

"Succinct," Hermione replied.

After a suitably long period of reflection, Harry broke the mood by stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "What is a squib, exactly?" he then asked.

"Eh, they're slightly-magicals, I guess. They're not affected by muggle-repelling charms, which is the big thing. My dad swears he'll successfully brew a potion one day, but every time he tries, he just ends up in the bathroom for an hour. I think he's going to draft me one of these summers to find out exactly where the magic happens. Mum has had a lot more luck with her magical plants in the garden."

"Hmm… Hermione, could you explain the blood purism argument to me? My only exposure to it is racial slurs and people ignoring how brilliant you are. I mean, shouldn't Malfoy be trying to prove you're secretly a muggle-raised pureblood?"

Chuckling, Hermione asked, "Harry, do you seriously think Malfoy is smart enough to realise that?"

"No, but presumably his father is. He should be trying to find your birth family to get into your favour and prove that all is right with the world." Harry paused for a moment. "Well, I guess it depends on what their actual argument is. But the fact remains that he's not. Why isn't he, then?"

That, actually, was a very good question. Hermione had once before noted that no blood purist had ever even _attempted_ to court her, but she'd never bothered to ask _why_. "I'm…not sure," she admitted. Then so they could think about it together, she proceeded to answer Harry's earlier question. "At its core, blood purism is the idea that strong witches and wizards produce strong children, and if you mate with muggleborn or, Merlin forbid, a muggle, you end up with weaker children, eventually resulting in everyone becoming squibs and muggles.

"Now, it's not like they pulled that idea out of the aether just to discriminate against muggleborn. Genes _do_ work that way sometimes. Tall parents generally have tall children. Short parents generally have short children. And if you have a tall and a short parent, you usually grow up somewhere in-between. That's almost certainly not how magical strength works, since muggleborn in general rarely struggle with the actual casting of spells, but I can understand why someone might believe otherwise. Fear does strange things to people, and the idea of the magical world becoming non-magical has to be terrifying to someone who was born and raised in it.

" _But_ that doesn't explain the Malfoys' behaviour, nor any other blood purist's at Hogwarts. There must be something we're missing." _Although, it could always be the case that they_ did _check and found out I really wasn't adopted, or that my parents aren't secretly magical, or–_

"Wait," Harry said, drawing Hermione's attention away from her ponderings. Rather than continuing, he merely sat still with his eyebrows scrunched together.

"Yeeees?"

Slowly, Harry said, "There's something on the tip of my tongue. It's… The blood purists don't want intermarriage. What other goals or beliefs do they have?"

"Well, in general, they just don't want muggles or muggleborn in the magical world. They also think that muggleborn don't deserve their magic. The less sane ones think that muggleborn somehow steal their magic from a pureblood. There's so many holes in that idea that no amount of patching could make it float."

"Argh. No, neither is what I was looking for, but the answer is _right there_. I know it. I'm still missing something." Harry let out an exasperated groan. "There's something more to this. Not every blood purist is as bad as Malfoy, and not everyone in Magical Britain is one, but muggleborn face discrimination from a large percentage of the population _anyway_. Why? I think that has something to do with why Mal–"

Harry slapped himself on the forehead. "We're idiots, Hermione."

Eyebrows raised questioningly, Hermione asked, "Would you care to elaborate on that?"

"It's so obvious. We're foreigners."

"Yes? We didn't grow up in the magical world." That was hardly news.

Harry shook his head. "You're missing the point. We're _foreigners_. Like the 'foreigners are ruining this country' kind that people like my uncle rant about."

Hermione's eyes widened in understanding. "We don't share their culture."

"We don't possess their mannerisms," Harry said.

"We think they're completely mad on occasion and aren't afraid to say it."

"And worst of all, we're becoming more numerous."

 _More numerous?_ Confused, Hermione asked, "What do you mean?"

"Think about it. You remember how we found out that the magical world's population decreased sharply during World War II?"

Hermione gasped as she was once more struck with understanding. "The number of muggleborn and muggle-raised hasn't changed; their birthrates weren't significantly affected. There's less of _everyone else_."

"And according to Greengrass, the ministry is, and has been, underfunded, so their economy probably hasn't been doing well for the last fifty years."

"And we're demanding changes to their society that – while much needed – aren't things they would ask for themselves."

"Mix all that with the background prejudice, and add a dark lord who made blood purism his hobbyhorse," Harry began.

Hermione then finished the thought. "And you get an explosive political and social issue that probably hadn't been very important before then." Many things suddenly made much, _much_ more sense. "Harry, you're brilliant!"

Blushing, Harry said, "Yes, well, _that_ is why both Malfoys just want you gone. You're smart, and you're obviously going to be an exceedingly powerful witch." Hermione did her best not to blush at the casual flattery he sent back her way. "If the hoi polloi think you and your behaviour are to be respected and idolised, then everyone might as well be muggleborn. Thus the blood purists have no use for you."

Hermione thought back to her tête-à-tête with Daphne. _'You want to trample all over our culture like every other muggleborn,' I think is how she put it. Why can't anything ever be simple?_ Hermione slumped over onto her side, leaning heavily on the back of the couch. There, she sighed. "I'm going to have to change my approach to politics, aren't I?"

"Probably."

Hermione let out a long, resigned groan. That was another thing to add to the ever growing list of things to do. To be perfectly fair, however, studying magical law and customs was one of those things she probably should have already been working on more seriously anyway, considering her goals in life.

 _That, or I could just lead a quick revolt,_ Hermione thought to herself, mildly amused with the idea. _Daphne would approve, no doubt._

"Alright," began Hermione, "I think I'm done with that conversation for now, so it's my turn to ask a question. Staying on the topic we were on before we got sidetracked – well, sidetracked again – what kind of children do you want? Magical, squibs, or mixed? Or adopted muggle, I guess."

" _Not mixed_ ," Harry said with as much force as Hermione thought he could put into the words without shouting. "I don't want to see my family members hate each other like Mum and Aunt Petunia."

"I'm sure there was more to that than just the magical–mundane divide."

Harry shrugged. Then after considering the question further, he said, "I think I'd want all magical. I don't really see myself leaving the magical world, or not completely, at least, so I'd like everyone to be part of my whole life without the extra trouble that comes from a mixed family. I have enough problems as it is without deliberately creating more. You?"

The answer was obvious. "Magical, simply for access to magic and the lifespan" – Harry's eyes widened momentarily, apparently not having thought of that – "but mostly muggle-raised, because I'd like my kids to have some sense in them."

Suppressing his laughter for the moment, but not his smile, Harry asked, "Don't you think that's a little harsh?"

"Oh, probably. But even if saying so contributes to our problems, you have to admit that magicals don't truly think rationally very often. Nor do they care that we have movies, and mass production, and computers, and can go to the moon, and–"

Harry pushed a piece of popcorn into Hermione's mouth, which was no less annoying this time than the last.

"I get your point."

"Still," Hermione said, not quite satisfied with her interrupted rant, "it would be nice to have more than just a card catalogue and some basic library magic. Could you imagine having a searchable computer catalogue for Hogwarts's library like in a muggle one? It would make research _so much_ easier. I mentioned the idea to Ms. Pince first year, but she didn't even care."

"To be fair," Harry began, "I've never actually touched a computer myself."

"We have one in the study, if you want to play with it later. There's a few games on it. Or if you're in the mood for mischief, we have a printer, too. You could type and print your summer homework and watch the fireworks come September."

"Hermione! I'm surprised at you."

Giggling, Hermione shrugged. "What can I say? You are a bad influence on me. Also, parchment is dumb." Harry snorted at that last remark.

"Okay, okay. My turn. What is it that you most dislike about someone? Or just what is it that you hate most?"

"Bullying," was Hermione's instant response. Nothing else even came close. "All the way from the Death Eaters' violent bullying down to knocking a little girl's books out of her hands." No further explanation was needed. "You?"

"I'd like to say fangirling, but Ginny isn't that bad."

Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless. Ginny's usual tactic of staring at Harry from around the corner before squeaking and running away when he looked in her general direction _was_ a little ridiculous.

"Hmm, to be honest, bullying is pretty high on my list, too, but I think what really gets to me is when people abuse positions of authority."

"Like Professor Snape and Lord Malfoy?"

"And my relatives," Harry said sullenly.

"Not for much longer, there. If we can nick one of their signatures, we can magically duplicate it onto anything and effectively emancipate you."

Harry turned to look at Hermione and then quirked an eyebrow.

Refusing to rise to the bait, Hermione said, "I'm not sure _exactly_ how magical law interacts with mundane law, but I do know the ministry forges _a lot_ of documentation. In any ordinary circumstances, we'd report your relatives and be done with it, but we can't, so we'll just have to bend the rules."

For once, Harry passed on the opportunity to tease her about being a benign criminal and smiled. "I don't suppose that would work on a Hogsmeade permission slip, would it?"

"Um… Maybe? I think the headmaster would give you an exemption either way if you just asked, though. He knows your guardians don't actually have your best interests at heart. A permission slip waiving liability if something happened to you off-campus is more of a formality, anyway. Any attempt by the Dursleys to hold the school at fault would see them brought up on far worse charges, so they wouldn't try."

"Fair enough. I'll have to remember to ask him later, then. Anyway, it's your turn."

"Hmm… What was it like when…" Hermione trailed off for a few seconds. "When you found out you were a wizard?"

Harry chuckled. "It was a surprise, and amazing, and all that, but far more interesting is _how_ I found out. My relatives wanted nothing to do with magic, of course, so they kept binning or burning my Hogwarts letters one after another. After _everything_ in the Dursleys' house exploded with Hogwarts letters for me, the four of us went off to some island somewhere to hide."

"As if that would work."

"I know, right? I didn't realise at the time, but a few weeks after the fact, it hit me just how absurd and inconsequential their attempts to keep me from magic were. If that was their best attempt at it, I almost feel bad for them."

"Harry," Hermione said with a faux scolding tone, "you shouldn't make fun of them. It's not their fault they have such small brains."

After exchanging smiles and laughs, Harry said, "Anyway, imagine this. Hagrid, this huge giant of a man more than twice my size, just appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the night during a storm offshore. He knocked the door down, handed me a whole cake of all things, and then gave Dudley a pig tail that he had to have surgically removed."

"Wait, what?"

Harry turned a look Hermione's way that asked what was strange about that – beyond the obvious, of course.

"Hagrid isn't allowed to use magic. Or he wasn't. After this year, he might get his wand back. But that's exactly it! He didn't have a wand, did he?"

After shaking his head, Harry simply said, "Huh."

'Huh' was a good summarisation of Hermione's thoughts, too. It was possible Hagrid had hidden a wand from Harry somehow, but what would the point have been? That he used magic at all would have gotten him in trouble with the ministry if it were discovered, and Harry had witnessed that. Having illegally bought a wand would only be a minor offence in comparison.

 _Come to think of it, maybe this is why Professor McGonagall was so sure we'd be fine with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest first year. Human transfiguration isn't easy._ Safe _human transfiguration even less so. The pig tail might have been a charm, I guess, given how long it apparently lasted, but even so…_

"Do you think Hagrid is just that good?"

"Huh?" Hermione looked up from where her gaze had fallen to while thinking.

"Maybe Hagrid cast a wandless, silent spell?" To Hermione's sceptical expression, Harry added, "It's possible."

"I guess it's not _im_ possible." Hermione made a mental note to ask Hagrid about the matter when she next saw him. While she was curious, the mystery of his spellcasting was not so very important in the end. It could wait.

Shrugging himself, Harry asked, "So what was it like for you? Finding out you were a witch, that is. I'd imagine finding out you were a wizard would be rather shocking."

"Well," Hermione began, a slight blush creeping onto her face, "I thought someone was playing a prank on me at first. I, uh… Nevermind. I'd experienced accidental magic before, of course, but…"

"A society of witches and wizards that have somehow managed to stay hidden for centuries until now even with how easy it's becoming for muggles to copy and disseminate information came a little out of the blue?"

Hermione nodded.

"Who's prepared for that, right?"

"I certainly wasn't," Hermione said. "It wasn't until Professor McGonagall came to demonstrate that my parents and I believed I was a witch. But once I did…"

Hermione had, of course, for a while thought that being a witch explained why she was so different from everyone else and why no one liked her, but that had turned out _not_ to be the case. When she thought about it, even now, she still found it strange that she'd been wrong, all things considered.

"You know the saying 'knowledge is power'?" After Harry nodded, Hermione said, "Growing up muggle and hearing that, well, it's true. A good education will take you far, and it's more true in economics, and politics, and war, and such. But it's not…not…"

" _Power_ ," Harry said. It was not a question; he knew perfectly well what Hermione meant.

Rather weakly, Hermione said, "Yeah. It's just I'd been thrown into a world where knowledge very literally equated with power and respect. I was" – she faked a cough – "excited. It turned out that people are people, whether magical or muggle, but even so, that feeling is still there." She rubbed one hand along her opposing arm and gave Harry a bashful smile, one which, thankfully, he returned. She refused to admit her worry to herself in words, but there _had_ been a chance that the boy who ultimately just wanted peace, quiet, and good company would forsake her after she'd admitted that.

"The magical world is full of contradictions, isn't it?"

"Undoubtedly."

"That's my question, then. What's the daftest thing about the magical world you've found?"

That was a little off in subject matter from the other questions so far, but Hermione answered it anyway. She had ammunition to spare, after all. "Oh, don't even get me started. If I _must_ choose, I'd pick their family structure."

Harry quirked an eyebrow.

"I suppose I should explain, shouldn't I?"

"I'm not a legilimens yet, you know."

"I'll take that as a yes. So… Well, actually, explaining would take a long time. There's this fascinating book called _Founding Your House_ by Eustace Jones. It details everything a muggleborn needs to know about how the legal system interacts with families, marriage, and the like. It has a few stories in it showing just how barmy Magical Britain can be that I feel terrible laughing at but still do. You should really read it, too, now that I think about it."

"In the future," Harry rather tentatively promised. "I'm not accepting 'read a book' as your answer, though."

"Yes, yes. Let me think…" After a moment, Hermione decided on something slightly less mad. "Okay, if you've been paying attention in history of magic, you'll know this one."

Without hesitation, Harry said, "Nope," with an unrepentant smile on his face.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. "Anyway, imagine this. You have a magical MacGuffin–"

"A what?"

"A useless plot device. I mean, it _has_ a use, technically speaking, but no one used it, and in the end, it was destroyed and everyone was no better or worse off for it. Think 'holy grail' from Arthurian legend."

"Ah." Harry hummed in thought for a moment. "Wasn't there a story where Lancelot got grailed somewhere in _Le Morte D'Arthur_?"

"'Got grailed'?" Harry opened his mouth to explain, but Hermione cut him off. "No, don't. I'm classifying that alongside 'Moldyshorts'."

Harry grumbled his displeasure.

"As I was saying, you have a magical MacGuffin held at Mount Doom–"

"Where?"

"Oh, honestly, Harry! You're going to read this summer if it's the last–" Noticing Harry's lips twitching, Hermione asked, "You're having me on, aren't you?"

"Well," Harry said, "I don't recognise the name, but I assume it's a sufficiently dangerous place."

After making a mental note to stuff Harry full of muggle literature, Hermione continued her story – _again_. "Okay, so there's a MacGuffin held in the place that's really hard to get to safely."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Two sides are fighting over the MacGuffin in a shadow war. One side wants the MacGuffin, and the other side just wants to keep it out of the other side's hands. They both spend a whole year with one side guarding it and the other trying to steal it. Lots of people get hurt, and some die. Then in the end, an otherwise uninvolved party friendly to the side guarding it gets a thought. 'Hey, do you actually have _any_ reason to keep this artifact of doom around?' The answer?" Hermione held her hand out expectantly.

"No."

"Congratulations," Hermione said. "You've just pointed out the obvious. It took one second to smash the MacGuffin – an orb of some sort, I believe – on the ground and another second to vanish the remains. War over."

Harry snorted. "And the lesson learnt is to never ignore the obvious solution."

"Among many others," Hermione added. "It was all so pointless. And that's one of the many reasons I think the magical world is completely mad. Now what about you, then? What's the most daft thing you've found?"

"That."

"Doesn't count."

"Then the story Susan told us."

"Also doesn't count," Hermione said.

"Fine," Harry said, pouting. "Then the series of defence professors at Hogwarts. All of them, or rather just the general idea of them."

Her head cocked to the side, Hermione asked, "What do you mean?"

"Bugger. I know something about Hogwarts that you don't. Ron will never let me live this down."

Hermione rolled her eyes and told Harry to get on with it.

"The defence position is _supposed_ to be filled by a different professor every year. It's been that way since Slytherin left Hogwarts, and even then, he supposedly brought in guest speakers often. But the last forty-some defence professors have _all_ suffered ruinous public humiliation, unrecoverable legal troubles, permanently debilitating injury, death, or some combination of the above. And yet _somehow_ the headmaster still manages to fill the position year after year. And half the time with people who _know_ there's something dodgy going on, too. It's absolute madness."

"Huh." Hermione wondered for a few seconds if anyone had tried to discover what was going on, but surely Headmaster Dumbledore would have done something if there was anything to be done about it. It would be tragically hilarious if all it took to fix the problem – if there was one – was a name change for the course. She really doubted that would work, but it was worth a try if it had yet to be attempted. It took almost zero effort. "Well, I know now how to get the evil Professor Potter away from my hypothetical kids. Just put him in the jinxed professorial position."

Harry rolled his eyes but said nothing more about it. Instead, he said, "Your turn, then. That's my question done."

Hermione only had to think for a second before a question Harry had sidestepped earlier came to mind. Grinning, she asked, "Alright, what do you want to make most with runes?"

With perfect seriousness, Harry looked Hermione in the eye. "You're playing a dangerous game, Miss Granger."

Hermione only grinned wider.

* * *

Barely awake, his thoughts sluggish, Harry shifted his head a bit, and something bushy and soft fell into the crook of his neck. As he was much more comfortable now, he thought nothing of it and let himself drift on the verge of unconsciousness.

"Why?" Harry could just make out a faint voice. It sounded muted and dull. "Just look at them. Aren't they just precious?"

"I suppose so." That voice was much easier to hear.

"Shh! You're going to wake them."

"They're not a zoo exhibit, Emma."

"They're mammals, adorable, and I have a camera. Close enough. Did you hear them talking last night?"

"No, and it's _still_ not polite to eavesdrop."

 _Funny,_ Harry lazily thought to himself. _Here I am, eavesdropping. I think._

"They were speaking loud enough to hear on the veranda. It's not my fault they were more interesting than my book."

"If you say so. That still doesn't explain why they're down here."

"Oh, that. I couldn't bear to send them to bed with what they were telling each other."

An indescribable amount of time passed in silence in the way only the half-awake could experience its passage.

"Which was…"

"I could tell you, but then _you'd_ be eavesdropping."

That logic sounded suspect to Harry, but then he was a wizard. Who was he to judge?

"They are _so_ going to end up together, you know."

 _They? Together? Wha…_

"I don't know. If they're _that_ comfortable together at their age, they'll probably have a more brother–sister like relationship."

 _Oh. Hermione and me. That's silly_.

"No way! Just look at them. This is clearly a textbook case of 'first girl wins'."

The sound of a hand smacking a forehead came followed by some words Harry couldn't hear.

"No, no." Emma said. "Harry is the first girl. Have some faith in your daughter."

This produced some smothered laughter. Still knackered, Harry ignored this affront to his dignity.

"Yes, yes. Just so long as I'm not a grandfather anytime soon, either way is fine. Hermione is happy – glowing, even – and that's what's important."

Ignoring any further fun being had at his expense, Harry thought back with a tired sluggishness to everything he and Hermione had discussed last night before sleep had taken them very early in the morning. The rest of the world faded away as he pored over the memories, and what he found surprised him. Or at least it surprised him as much as anything could at the moment.

 _It's still silly._ Even so, the idea bore further thought later, if Harry remembered, just not _too_ much. Hermione would undoubtedly find those memories, otherwise.

* * *

There it was. It mocked her with its ordinariness. There was nothing special about it, it seemed to say. It was lovely to look at, sure, but nothing to take note of. Unless one wanted a blanket to snuggle into, no one would pay it any mind.

Hermione stared down at where she and Harry had abandoned the priceless historical artifact of untold power last night with a frown. It was the same velvet cloak it'd always been, and yet it was completely different.

 _I feel like… I don't know._ Something _should change now that we know what this is, but… Well, it's still just an invisibility cloak as far as we know._

Sighing in defeat, Hermione folded the cloak and replaced it neatly in Harry's trunk before doing the same with all the clothes that were still scattered about from her mad scramble last night. She did leave the burnables out and threw them in a basket, however, and rooted around in the trunk for the rest of them. Harry had a pair of her jeans for today and one of her more androgynous shirts; this afternoon marked the end of him wearing his cousin's oversized castoffs forever.

With a half-filled basket carried in both her hands, Hermione made her way downstairs and followed the smell of bacon into the kitchen. There she found Harry and her dad bustling about cooking what would pass for brunch while her mum went about setting the table.

"Good afternoon, Mum," Hermione called out to the only person she had yet to see today.

"Good morning to you, too, Poppet. Your father tells me he already told you two to go to bed at a reasonable time from now on, yes?"

"Yes, Mum," Hermione said, blushing a bit. She really _had_ meant to get them both to bed, but she and Harry had kept talking and talking until they'd collapsed. Not that she regretted it. "Harry, do you want to take a break for a moment? I pulled all the kindling from your trunk."

Harry looked to Dan, who said, "Go on, then. You've been more than enough help. I can manage things here."

"Thanks!" Harry said. He handed off the pair of tongs he was using for the bacon and joined Hermione with a silly grin on his face.

"Emma, would you make sure they don't set anything else on fire?" Hermione heard her dad say as they stepped out onto the veranda. Before they could hear Emma's response, Harry and Hermione were out of earshot and in the garden.

"You know, Hermione, it hasn't even been a day yet, but I have to say your parents are absolutely brilliant," Harry said as they walked. "Your dad is great, and your mum is hilarious."

"Yes, well, don't let her go too far. Mum can get a bit _too_ silly, sometimes."

"That's impossible," Harry said, which earned him an unseen eye roll.

 _Honestly, boys! Dad never says anything, either._

Turning into a small clearing just past the edge of the forest bordering Hermione's home, Harry spotted their destination and asked, "You have a fire pit?"

"Yeah. Dad likes to cook with it in the summer, and I admit I developed a bit of a weakness for s'mores on holiday in the States when I was younger."

"Really? I've never cooked like that before. Do you think he'd let me try?"

"Let you? If you so much as suggest it, I'll be eating shish kabob, rotisserie chicken, and steaks for the next three weeks."

From how Harry was licking his lips, Hermione resigned herself to the doom of her dad's culinary overenthusiasm. Not that he was a bad cook by any standards, but he did tend away from _variety_ without the occasional kick in the bum. With Harry as backup, there was no hope.

Hermione sighed to herself. _At least Dad will adore Harry._

Once they arrived at the fire pit, Hermione tossed the entire contents of the basket in her hands into it. She even briefly contemplated throwing the basket itself in for good measure, but it was a bit too big to fit. Instead, she went with the next best option. First putting the basket down, she flicked her wrist. Her wand then popped into existence and landed in her grasp.

"It's only been an hour, and I still can't believe I ever went without a holster," Hermione said, a sentiment Harry agreed with wholeheartedly; they were just so _convenient_. Taking aim, she swept her wand through the appropriate motions. "Scourgify." Then, again, she repeated the action. " _Scourgify_." And just to make sure, she cast the spell one last time. "Scourgify!"

Harry chuckled next to her. "I think it's clean, Hermione."

"Hmph! You can't ever be too careful."

"Hermione," Emma said, causing Hermione to yelp and jump in surprise. In one hand she carried a bucket of water and in the other a bucket of sand. "Should we be expecting aurors?"

Thankfully catching Hermione's flushed and pleading expression, Harry answered for her. "No, Emma. Hermione found a loophole in the underage magic laws."

Emma hummed suspiciously, obviously not quite buying that. Hermione noticed her mum eyeing her _new_ rowan wand held incriminatingly in her hand.

"I presume I should assume I shouldn't tell anyone about how clever my little girl is. Is that the case?"

Hermione stared straight down at the flip-flops slipped on over her socks and watched her toes wiggle and curl nervously within. After a moment to puzzle out her mum's somewhat confusing words, she mumbled, "That would be wise."

Chuckling, Emma said, "Alright. So long as your dad and I finally get to see some of what you've been learning, feel free to stick it to the man, as they say across the pond."

In all honesty, Hermione was sure her face could not possibly feel any hotter than it felt right now.

"I think you broke her," Harry said from behind his hand, but he entirely forgot to _whisper_ if he wanted to make an aside to Emma. And as it happened, Hermione had been wrong. Her face _could_ feel hotter.

Emma mirrored his behaviour, asking, "This _is_ safe, right?"

"It should be, yes," Harry said, expressing far more confidence about that now to Emma than he did when it was just him and Hermione. "Just make sure she doesn't get up to any crazy experiments after midnight."

"Harry!" Hermione said, forcibly changing the topic. "Do you want to do the honours, or should I?"

"I'll do it." Harry flicked his wrist, withdrawing his own wand from its holster. He carefully aimed at the fire pit, savouring the moment and in no rush. "Incendio!" A short jet of fire sprung from the tip of Harry's wand into the pit. The old rags inside it quickly caught fire, and they grew within moments into a roaring blaze.

A few seconds passed as all three of them stared into the fire. Then once it was clear the flame was contained, Emma set her prepared bucket of water down. "I'll leave you two to it, then. Brunch will be ready in ten minutes or so."

Once they were alone, Harry said, "Hermione?" His gaze was still fixed into the flames.

"Yes, Harry?" Hermione asked, looking away from the pit to him. She noticed he was tapping his fingers quickly against his leg, so she pushed aside the giddy feeling of watching Dudley Dursley's rags burn for the moment. There was no better sign that Harry was feeling tense than that steady rap, rap, rapping.

"Can I ask you a serious question?" Harry said. "I didn't get a chance last night."

"Of course." Hermione hesitated to say anything further, but she sucked up her courage and went for it, completely ignoring the tight feeling in her chest. "I really enjoyed talking last night, you know. I certainly wouldn't be opposed to doing it again sometime. I've always wanted a friend I could share everything with, although some part of me always thought it'd be another girl."

"Well, I am wearing girls clothes right now."

"Consider yourself an honourary girl, then."

"I'll try to take that as a compliment."

Chuckling, Hermione turned back to the fire and took a couple steps clockwise closer to Harry to be upwind of it. The burning cloth was really starting to smell, but it made the sight no less satisfying.

"Hermione, what is it that scares you the most?"

"I…" That was really testing the limits of 'everything', especially when one of her biggest fears was having to bury the one asking. Hermione gulped. "I don't think there's something that scares me _the_ most, but some part of me is convinced I'm living a dream, that I'll wake up and be the ugly little beaver with no friends but my books again."

Harry let out a mirthless laugh. "Trade 'ugly little beaver' for 'troublemaking freak', and I know exactly how you feel."

"It's not a dream, though," Hermione said. "The rest of my head knows that, but even then, it worries all the same. When it's not busy worrying about you, of course."

"Of course," Harry agreed as if it were merely an unassailable law of the universe that Hermione Granger always worried about Harry Potter. A second passed. Hermione tried to keep her composure; she really did. She failed. She descended into giggles, and when she fell, Harry fell with her.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, recovering. "I really have to thank you for listening to me that night on the Astronomy Tower. I've felt less…high-strung ever since. I don't know how I'd have fared next year alone."

"I only did what I should've done all along," Harry replied, brushing it off. "You're right about most things, after all."

Hermione chuckled as she asked, "Only most things?"

"Yes, you do seem to be confused about flying."

Hermione chose not to reply to that and just let it go. Instead she asked, "So what is it that's troubling you that you bring this up?" After what felt like forever waiting, she turned her head to see what was going on. "Harry?"

"I don't know how to put this. We'll be friends forever, right? Through everything?"

Deciding to be as clear as possible to leave no room for doubt, Hermione said, "If we were any other kids, the only honest answer I could give would be 'I hope so'. If we were anyone else, we might have woken up one day and started arguing over the silliest things, or maybe we'd have made new friends or started dating and drifted apart. Maybe you'd have grown to resent my relative freedom and loving family while I got frustrated with you suddenly doing as well as or better than me in class as you mature. I _am_ a year older than more than half of our classmates; I won't pretend that doesn't give me a significant advantage at our age, and I've grown very used to that."

"And us?"

"As much as it pains me to say this, I'm a lot like my mum. Almost all of her friends have been with her for over a decade now, and most of those were from before her university days. When she makes a friend, it's for life. You're my best friend, Harry. If you look at Mum as a proto-Hermione and add in everything we have gotten and _will get_ up to together, you tell me. Are _you_ going anywhere?"

Harry heaved a long, heavy sigh, and it was far from one of relief. "Did you ever happen to read anything about Myrtle Warren?"

"Moaning Myrtle?" After Harry nodded, Hermione said, "No, not particularly. When I was unpetrified, everything was already over, so I didn't bother. Why the interest?"

"After our impromptu camping trip, but before the year ended, I dug around in the library for scraps of Quirrelmort's past to, I guess, learn what not to do. Myrtle was his first victim – or at least his first murder – so I knew what records to pull from the school archives: he was two years ahead of her. From there it was pretty easy to find more references."

"I'd like to read those sometime," Hermione interrupted, "if you'd point them out to me next year." Not doing so herself had been a complete and total oversight on her part.

Harry nodded but otherwise ignored the request. "It turns out Quirrelmort wasn't lying in the chamber. He really is a half-blood, and not only that, but a muggle-raised orphan. He was sorted into Slytherin, and he was, of course, a parselmouth. He got Hagrid expelled on really flimsy evidence simply because the then headmaster, Dippet, liked him. He was generally considered a genius, but there were rumours that his home life was not good. I still haven't figured out where exactly he grew up, besides London. He definitely had lingering issues from it, though."

Something about that description niggled at Hermione's thoughts, but the source of that feeling eluded her.

"Myrtle Warren was sorted into Ravenclaw, and her grades were all excellent every year, even with Professor Binns in history. Muggleborn, of course. When I looked through old photos from the time, I knew I needed to talk to her ghost again. It took…a few favours I'm not terribly proud of, but I got her to tell me her life story. She really only had one friend during her time at Hogwarts. Most of the rest of the school teased her about her looks and her glasses. Although if her ghost is an accurate representation, her personality probably played some part in the teasing, too."

That foreboding, niggling feeling in Hermione's head got even worse. There was something on the tip of her tongue.

Sighing, Harry finally turned away from the fire to look Hermione in the eyes. "Imagine my surprise when I heard that Myrtle Warren's best friend was Tom Riddle."

And then Hermione understood, and she was not happy.

"Do they sound familiar?"

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh before plucking Harry's glasses from his face. She put them on her own, and the world went absurdly blurry.

"Hello, Tom." The world was too fuzzy to know for sure, but it looked like Harry cringed. "Do you want to turn evil?"

"No."

"Do you want to kill me?"

"No."

"Do you _want_ to kill anyone?"

Harry shook his head but was cut off before he could say anything more on the topic.

"Do you even dislike muggles?"

"Only a few…"

"Muggleborn?"

"No."

"Purebloods?"

"Just the Death Eaters."

"Are you aware that while I'm taking your worries themselves seriously, their actual content is completely irrational and utterly ridiculous?"

It took a few seconds, but Harry eventually said, "Yes."

"Do you want to stay friends forever?"

"Yes. Very much."

Hermione removed Harry's glasses and held them out for him in one hand. As he replaced them atop his nose, she smiled and said, "Thank you, Harry. I would, too." Only after Hermione had received a smile in return did she ask, "So this is what scares you the most? Turning evil?"

"I know it's just a phobia, but ever since I met the young Quirrelmort, I can't help but worry about how similar he and I are. I mentioned it to the headmaster, but he just gave me some tripe about being in Gryffindor and making different choices that I didn't really make."

"Magical Britain isn't exactly known for their mental health services."

Chuckling, Harry turned back to the smoldering remains of his cousin's clothes. A few embers could be seen from time to time, but they were almost all smoke and ashes by now.

"I don't know why, Hermione, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm walking the same path. Like exchanging Dudley's castoffs for real clothes makes me more like him. Like doing well in school would make me more like him."

"It does." The shock showing on his face, Harry turned back to Hermione. She shrugged and said, "So what? That's an association fallacy, you know. I'm sure you and I both have a lot in common with Hitler, too. Quirrelmort is a terrible person; you're not, not even if you come from similar backgrounds. And to be honest, I doubt he was ever really friends with Myrtle. What aspiring evil overlord _wouldn't_ want to recruit the lonely, talented girl if all it took was a few kind words?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that's not what I'm doing with you?"

A ridiculous question like that deserved an equally absurd response. "How do you know I don't know you are and I'm not simply waiting to seize power from you?" Hermione smirked at the smile that managed to draw out of Harry and went one step further. "I won't say anything silly like 'because I know you'. That wouldn't reassure me, either. No, it's because I'm pretty sure I'm going to learn legilimency faster than either of us learns occlumency, so prepare yourself, Potter. I'm coming for your secrets."

After Harry was done laughing, Hermione took on a more serious tone again as she spoke. "Harry, I told you I'll be with you every step of the way not just in the years to come, but for our whole lives. If you need to be pulled aside for a spanking, I'll do it. I expect you to do the same for me. I'm certain I'm nowhere near as patient or as forgiving as the character I'm named after."

"What if we turn evil together?"

Hermione almost missed the upward twitch of Harry's lips, but once she saw that, she immediately changed what she'd been about to say.

"Then all hail the dark lord Harry and the dark lady Hermione. I'm sure we'd have a perfectly valid reason."

"Of course. How naive of me," Harry said. He leaned down to pick up the bucket of water Emma had left behind and threw its contents into the fire pit. The remaining ashes and charred pieces of cloth hissed in defiance for a few seconds but soon quieted. The deed was done. A quick spell disposed of what was left.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I really enjoyed last night, too. I've really enjoyed the entire last month. I call you my best friend, but I don't think I've been living up to that the way you have until now. I'm sorry."

Hermione refused to lie to herself and deny how much she'd wanted to hear those words, but she _also_ refused to rub Harry's face in them. "Thank you, Harry, but there's really nothing to forgive. Friendships need time to grow."

"Well, then thank you. For everything."

Smiling – though Harry probably missed it – Hermione walked a little closer to him than either usually felt comfortable with. "You're welcome," she said as they started back to the house. Though she would deny it, there was a bit of a skip to her step that she knew had never been there before. Dusty old mirrors might insist she already had her heart's desire, but while technically true, there was no upper bound on happiness. Life could _always_ get better.

After Harry put away their empty water bucket, he suddenly clapped his hands together. "Well then," he said, "I think these girls clothes have been getting to me, so that's brunch. If Ron is to be believed, you're going to make my life miserable today. I like to believe I have a pretty high tolerance, so you'll need all the time and energy you can get."

Hermione rolled her eyes, mumbling, "You prat." Even so, she still followed Harry back inside the house whilst humming a cheery tune.

End of Act One

* * *

 **A/N:** And that's the end of the Best Friends act. This act ran a lot longer than I was expecting, but there was a lot to cover, and being stingy on setting the tone of and developing Harry and Hermione's relationship would be a disaster, considering that the story (and to some extent, the world) revolves around them.

Next act in _Harry and Hermione Starring in: The Digital Revolution_ , A Black Comedy, in which opportunities abound. A mysterious benefactor provides a vital clue, an unexpected Lord Black sits within the Wizengamot, the transistor is unintentionally invented, and Harry and Hermione contemplate opening a sweets shop.


	8. Memory Mismanagement

**A/N:** JKR owns Harry Potter.

* * *

Act Two - A Black Comedy  
Chapter Seven - Memory Mismanagement

"The forest?" Although he tried to hide it, the muggle's eyes flicked toward said forest, and a tremor ran through him. "I don't know what you've heard, but it's all nonsense. There's no such thing as ghosts."

Denial.

"Nah, there's nothing there," came the slurred voice of a woman protesting a little too strongly. One hand held her own drink, and the other thrust forth a frothing pint freshly obtained from the barman. "Now why don't you tell me about yourself, Handsome."

Distraction.

"Yeah, Old Man Agron was found out in Burim's Meadow a couple weeks back bleeding out. Someone stabbed him a few times in the neck or something but got scared off before he could bury the body or whatnot. Weren't nothing supernatural about that. Looked emaciated, though. Thought he'd been taking better care of himself than that."

Rationalisation.

No one wanted to admit it, but the forest surrounding the village was haunted. Muggle or not, they knew, and they were afraid.

 _How wonderful!_ Xenophilius 'Xeno' Lovegood thought to himself. If he was right, there was a wraith nearby and had been for many years.

After buying a local map, Xeno set out on today's search of the forest as twilight slowly edged into night. Once he was far enough away from the muggle village, he drew his wand.

"Ignis fatuus."

Soft blue light filled the forest as small balls of cold, blue fire drifted out of Xeno's wand. The flames spread out around him, slowly burning away the gathering fog. With almost no moonlight, it was all he had to guide his way. Anything more might frighten his target, skittish creatures that they were.

The night pressed on as Xeno explored. Bugs leapt and flew out of his path, grass rustled, owls hooted, and wolves howled. On occasion, a bat swooped down to snatch a fleeing insect.

Xeno frowned. Something was wrong.

 _Why is there so much fauna?_ Xeno _knew_ there was a wraith here. The hushed stories from every nearby village and the rumours on the wind all spoke to that fact. The forest, however, told a different tale. _Even if it didn't show itself, mundane animals should flee from a wraith's presence._

Starting his hike from the infamous Burim's Meadow, Xeno had cut a large swath through the forest. He _should_ have run into a section lacking wildlife. He'd been walking for hours now, and he'd been at it every night over the past week.

Xeno glanced up at the sound of a bat's screech. He noticed it was on a near collision course with him. He did so dislike it when bats became tangled in his hair. Twice in his life was more than enough, thank you. He stepped aside.

The bat followed.

Xeno's eyes narrowed.

The bat swooped closer still.

"Expulso!"

Xeno jumped back as a tree branch overhead crashed to the ground, his ears ringing from the explosion above. He barely heard the thud of feet hitting the ground beside him. Immediately, he rounded on his opponent. A silently conjured shield popped into existence, and he shouted, "Confringo!"

An enormous fireball grew right in front of Xeno. The concussive force of it threw him back. He landed a good deal away from his assailant unharmed and on his feet. Unfortunately, his foe looked only mildly singed, although the angry hissing came through loud and clear.

In the lull in the fight that followed, Xeno examined his enemy. Short yet pointed ears, long fangs, claws instead of fingernails, eyes glowing in the night, pallid skin – vampire. And now that he had a moment to notice, it was a female vampire, too – how unusual. The females rarely hunted for themselves unless they were alone. The thought occurred that she'd been the one to kill 'Old Man Agron'.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to go on a diet of donated blood?" Xeno tried. He rather doubted his request would be taken up, but he felt obligated to put forth a token effort. _Some_ vampires could be convinced to be civil.

As expected, the vampire lunged forward far faster than anything on two legs had any right to be.

Xeno swung his wand toward the earlier fallen branch and banished it into the vampire's path. He swore as she jumped atop it; one thrust of her foot slammed it into the ground, barely interrupting her charge.

For a moment, Xeno considered simply apparating away; he was an average fighter at best.

Instead, however, Xeno apparated a mere good distance behind the vampire. He regained his bearing a second later and took aim. Silently, he cast lumos solem. A brilliant, narrow beam of sunlight shot through the forest. The screaming hiss of pain that followed let him know he'd hit his mark, if only briefly. The vampire shot off behind a tree, wrapping her cloak about her as she did.

A splintering crack roared from the vampire's direction. The tree the she'd hidden behind slowly fell toward the ground. Then suddenly, it spun forward toward Xeno, destruction following in its wake as it tore its way through the forest.

"Depulso!"

With as much magic as Xeno put into his spell, the banishing charm overcame the sheer force the vampire had put into the tree.

"Depulso!"

With a second casting, the tree picked up speed and shot back toward the vampire as fast as it'd been leaving before. Xeno saw her eyes widen as she gasped.

 _Poor thing. Must be a muggle-turned vampire._ No former witch wouldn't have seen _that_ coming.

Taking advantage of the opening, Xeno fired off another lumos solem. With that as a distraction, the vampire proved unable to dodge, and the tree crashed into her.

Xeno apparated forward. He aimed his wand as quickly as he could; this close, accuracy was of little importance.

"Lumos solem maxima!"

Only once the screaming had ceased did Xeno cancel his spell. Buried beneath the tree, he found the scorched vampire.

"Stupefy."

The bolt of red light slammed into the vampire. If she'd not already been unconscious, she was now.

"Incarcerous."

Although they would probably not hold the vampire, her strength being enough to kick, throw, and break trees, Xeno bound her in thick ropes anyway. Every little bit helped.

Xeno sighed as he considered his options.

 _I need to be back in London tomorrow to pick up Luna from Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. No sign of the wraith anywhere this past week, just stories…_

Sighing once more, Xeno decided it was time to head home. The next time he went looking for crumple-horned snorkacks, he'd stick to Sweden. He would have gone there this time, too, only he'd been so sure that he'd seen a wraith consume a crumple-horned snorkack last year. Tracking a prey species by where their predators appeared had _seemed_ like a logical approach, only it'd borne no fruit on this particular expedition.

 _I suppose those muggles mistook a vampire for a wraith. It happens. Still, that was too easy. If_ I _were a vampire, I'd have learnt a bit more about my powers in the… What was it? Ten, eleven years she must have been here? I feel like I'm missing something important._

Xeno shrugged.

 _Oh well. I'll have more luck next time, I'm sure._

For now, Xeno had a vampire to deliver to the Albanian ministry.

* * *

 _Hermione lied,_ Harry thought with a smile. _Not that her mum gave her a chance to say otherwise when we left for the store._

Harry slipped on the latest in a long, long line of shirts. All Hermione wanted to know was if they fit or not: efficient and practical, but also not assuming. That plan had been derailed, re-railed, and derailed again throughout the day, much to her annoyance. _This_ t-shirt promised much the same; Harry had no memory of it himself, so it was clearly one of Emma's choices, not Hermione's. That meant it _had_ to be shown off.

Grinning, Harry stepped out from behind the curtain and found Hermione, who would just _love_ this choice. "Well? How do I look?"

Before he even finished, Hermione slapped a hand to her forehead. "You look like you want aurors to arrest you."

"Oh, but couldn't you just imagine the Boy-Who-Lived, the living magical miracle, walking down Diagon Alley in that?" Emma asked. At least _she_ liked it and appreciated the irony.

"Fred and George would love it, too," Harry added.

Hermione groaned. "That's not a good thing, Harry. You haven't even read the book."

Harry glanced down at the very lovely imagine of an old wizard on his chest with the caption 'Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards' beneath. "Still seems great to me."

"Vetoed!"

"You know," Emma said appraisingly, "I think I like this one even more than the _Monty Python_ one I found."

"Vetoed!" Hermione said again, this time stamping her foot.

"This wizard kind of looks like the headmaster, actually," Harry said. "I bet he'd feel very flatt–"

"Vetoed! Vetoed! Vetoed! I refused to let you make people think I regularly turn you into a newt, and I refuse to let you make yourself a target for aurors in a bad mood. Put. It. Back."

Harry managed to keep himself from laughing until he made it back into the unsoundproofed privacy of his changing room. _It's just too easy with Emma as support._

"Mum!" Harry heard Hermione hiss, which was really too bad. He and Emma were breaking new ground in discovering just how flustered Hermione could become, and he'd just missed their latest findings. Such a shame indeed.

 _Oh well. At least Hermione is having fun, too._ She complained about how awful he and her mum were, but on occasion, Harry caught her smiling when she thought no one was looking. Really, he suspected those two were just trying to make this experience enjoyable for him, given clothes shopping's reputation among males. If so, it was working.

"Harry, how many shirts do you know fit? Not counting _the two_."

"Eleven," Harry answered through the curtain separating him from his chaperones. "Is that enough?"

"That's more than enough, Harry. Why don't you grab those and meet us at the till?"

"Alright." Harry heard Hermione grunt after he agreed, likely as she was lifting the huge pile of other clothes they already had. Soon after, he heard the sound of footsteps walking away as well as the muffled voices of both Hermione and her mum.

Looking in the mirror at himself, Harry memorised the words at the bottom of the shirt he wore as well as those on its back. Hermione had mentioned they came from a book. He'd have to ask her which one later; it might very well be worth reading. _Either way, I_ have _to remember this line. It's too perfect to forget._

Harry posed in front of the mirror with an imaginary oaken staff; a _proper_ wizard's hat, unlike Hogwarts's caps; and billowing robes. "Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards," he quietly boomed, his voice stern, "for they are subtle and quick to anger." He nodded to himself. Yes, that was a quote to remember.

As tempted as he was to purchase it in secret, Harry shrugged off the novelty wizard shirt and set it aside. He dug through the pile of other clothes for the shirt Hermione had lent him this morning. Slipping that one back on, he picked up all the others that fit – regrettably minus the two Emma had picked out – and left the remainder behind.

At the till and despite his protests, Emma paid for all of Harry's clothes, not even accepting exchange-fee-free galleons in return. Once the were away, she gave him a very strange explanation that he considered more of an excuse or a way to pull a fast one on him than anything based in actual truth.

"Dan and I make a quarter million pounds together every year. We own our house and aren't interested in a larger one. We let our practice pay for itself. We have more than enough for retirement, even ignoring that Hermione would likely be able to simply magic us anything we'd need. We go on extended vacations every year. All that, and we _still_ don't know what to do with the rest of our money sometimes. Welcome to the world of the rich, Harry. Just accept the gesture, and we'll do the same some other time."

Harry suspected that what Emma meant by 'some other time' was something a bit further off than next week or even next month.

Worse was when Hermione pulled him a few steps away to whisper, "For every galleon you give us, we'll give two to Malfoy." That had left him glaring at her back as she skipped ahead, laughing.

Harry supposed he would get used to it.

Besides, the elder Grangers, at least, seemed fine with fully utilising the things he and Hermione had bought in Diagon Alley regardless of how they'd split the bill or not. Emma had plans to read a number of the books, and as Hermione had alluded to last night, Dan was already eyeing their pile of potions supplies.

"Mr. Potter," a man called out from behind their group just as they were about to enter their sedan and depart for Hermione's house. Harry quietly groaned but still turned to face the man. He _had_ hoped that whilst in the muggle world, no one would recognise him.

The man walking toward them moved quickly, yet he still managed to hold an air of dignity in his stride. His slightly mousy face did his appearance no favours, however. He had sun-bleached, light-brown hair, and despite his somewhat portly appearance, a hint of muscle showed on his arms beneath his robes. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to his robed attire besides one very perplexed woman who, Harry supposed, was likely a squib. More interestingly, this was the first magical – besides Hermione last September – that Harry had ever seen with a tan. All together, it spoke of an easy life in the tropics.

"Yes?" Harry said, trying his best to remain polite. He was resigned to this. Or at least that was what he told both himself and Hermione.

From his pocket, the man withdrew a box much too large to have fit in it. Harry made a note to have either him or Hermione learn the undetectable extension charm as soon as they had the magic for it. That spell was rapidly rising to the top of his list of overpowered enchantments.

"I have a package to deliver to you," the man said, holding out the box with both hands. If he noticed that Harry was hesitant to take it, he was polite enough not to comment.

 _If he wanted to hurt me or kidnap me, he'd have just done it,_ Harry thought to himself. This _should_ have fallen under the category of 'do not take candy from strangers', but with no wards here preventing apparition or blocking a portkey and him having but two years of magical education, he knew there was nothing stopping anyone who wished him harm _and_ _could_ _find_ _him_ from doing so. _I should probably ask for one of Hermione's emergency portkeys._ He felt Hermione subtly push something small into his hand. _Although she probably just gave me hers._

"Thank you," Harry said, "but you could have just owled it to me."

Hermione poked Harry from behind, drawing his attention. She whispered, "You're not keyed into the owl post."

 _Oh._ "Er, nevermind," Harry said. Now that it'd been brought up, he supposed an owl ward of some variety or his lack of a public address was probably the only reason letters and gifts hadn't suffocated him with their sheer volume when he was a toddler. It _did_ make him wonder how much of Dudley's stuff had actually been gifts for him, though. "Who's it from, if I may ask?"

Shrugging, the man said, "No idea. I just make the deliveries."

 _That_ set off a few warning bells in Harry's head, but he told himself he was just being paranoid. He blamed Hermione for forcing him to accept his Slytherin side. Slytherin and paranoia, after all, were inseparable concepts. Still, he planned to levitate it across the ward boundaries of Hermione's house before he opened it or even _touched_ it. If nothing happened, then it was _probably_ safe.

"Just toss it in the boot, if you would," Harry said, glancing at Emma for permission. She nodded.

After his package was somewhat safely stored away, Harry said, "If there's nothing else, then…"

And with that, they made their escape. Thankfully, when they arrived back at Hermione's house, neither she nor Emma questioned his precautions. Despite the minor annoyance, they briefly stopped at the kerb to unload the box with a hover spell. Hermione even gave him an approving nod when she retrieved it from her doorstep. Apparently, she was satisfied that he was at least _trying_ not to ask trouble to, as she had put it, follow him around like a lovesick schoolgirl.

The first thing Harry did after unloading his new wardrobe, naturally, was to run up to the guest bedroom and change out of Hermione's clothes.

After that, then, the three of them joined up with Dan, who had returned home from work, and the now group of four set out again, leaving the box behind unopened for the moment.

Most of the remaining afternoon was spent on furnishing the TARDIS, as Hermione insisted on referring to their potions lab. The proper term was 'portable lodgings', but it made her smile, so Harry shrugged and went with it. And really, it was becoming more of a proper home than a mere intended brewery. It already held a small library's worth of books, all his clothes, and a pile of assorted potions ingredients. Before they were done, it would have lab space, a fully stocked storeroom, a sitting room, a kitchen and dining area, and a couple of spare rooms and halls, one of which Harry secretly planned to convert into a runes workshop. They might as well throw a bed in one of them while they were at it, so they did.

Magic was absolutely brilliant.

Harry did note, however, that at some point both he and Hermione really needed to learn the muggle repelling charm. Finding places in the middle of Crawley to have bulky furniture disappear into the TARDIS without notice had proved difficult, to say the least.

At some point, Dan brought up the issue of plumbing, gas, and the very definite absence of electricity. That meant another trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow due to their lack of foresight. By the time they _finally_ returned to Hermione's house, ate, and organised the TARDIS somewhat, Harry felt almost too tired to leave. He _could_ beg off. Hermione would give in if he pled long enough. Still, it would be unfair to do that to her. Instead, he approached the front door with a heavy feeling in his chest. Dan and Emma trailed behind him.

"Are you sure you don't need a ride?" Dan asked.

Harry shook his head. "I'm going to take the Knight Bus. You've both been wonderful. I won't ask you to waste an hour of your night."

"It would hardly be a waste, and I'm sure Hermione would jump at any chance to spend more time with you."

"No, it's fine. Thank you, though. The bus should only take a minute, and it's cheap, right?"

Emma shrugged. "Cheap enough for short trips, but certainly more than mundane busses. The trip to London and back is fairly expensive, though."

"We'll expect you sometime around breakfast, then?" Dan asked. After Harry nodded, he asked, "Are you sure you don't want to open your package here?"

"No, I'll open it at the Dursleys'. There are more wards there, and I'd feel less bad if I blew up their house than yours." A flicker of something passed over both Dan's and Emma's face, but it left as quickly as it came.

"Harry," Emma said, "before you go, there's something we'd like to give you."

As Emma moved toward a table with numerous storage drawers beneath it, Harry said, "You don't have to–"

"It's not anything valuable," Dan interrupted. "Not really."

"Of course," Emma said, taking over as she returned, "we had this made before we found out about your 'legal loophole'."

Harry glanced away, which was probably more incriminating than anything else he might have done.

"We might have picked something different to enchant, otherwise," Emma continued, "but from what we've seen and heard of you, we don't have any reason to change our minds." Before he could object again, she then said, "Catch!"

Something shiny flew through the air, and Harry reached out and grabbed it without a thought, even though Emma had tossed whatever it was very poorly and fast.

"Wow, he _is_ good," Emma commented. Perhaps, then, she'd tossed it exactly as desired.

An unfamiliar, bumpy feeling in his hand, Harry uncurled his fingers. "What? I can't–"

"Just take it," Dan said. "Even with wards, we don't like leaving the door unlocked, and both of us and Hermione tend to lie in during the summer. Believe me, you don't want to wake up a Granger woman before she's – ow!"

Emma withdrew her hand from behind Dan, smiling innocently in the exact same way Hermione did on the rare occasions she got into a mischievous mood. He glared, but Emma paid him no mind and took over the burden of conversation.

"If you ever need a place to go, you're always welcome here, even if we're not around."

Harry felt his breath hitch. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he resorted to a weak nod. As though it might fade away otherwise, he curled his fingers tightly back around the key to the Grangers' house.

Lastly, Dan added, "It's also a portkey, Harry. Just say 'vanilla' and then the name of the sixth planet in an emergency, and it'll take you somewhere safe. The words don't necessarily have to be sequential, but they _are_ time sensitive, and anyone can trigger the portkey. If someone takes it from you, do send them away. If you forget, the activation phrase is engraved on it."

Figuring that not knowing where he was going was part of the safety, Harry nodded. He pocketed the key outside his mokeskin pouch where it would do some actual good in an emergency.

"Hermione!" Emma called out up the stairs. "Come say goodnight!"

A faint, "One sec," came floating back down into the vestibule. Definitely more than a second later, Hermione came thumping down the steps. She was clearly hastily dressed for bed but with a set of unfastened casual robes thrown on top. At her hip was her mokeskin pouch with who knew what in it, and on her other side, she clutched a pillow and a sleeping bag.

Even before her parents could say anything, Harry immediately said, "You're not coming to the Dursleys'."

"Just for tonight," Hermione said as much to Harry as to her parents. "I'm not going to get any sleep if I'm up all night worrying that something went horribly wrong. I just want one night. And I'll be wearing your cloak to bed, of course, and when we arrive and leave. I've got everything I need, and I packed some cereal for myself to snack on, since I know you only have that sugary mess you like with you. Please?" It was hard to tell who exactly she was begging now that she actually asked permission.

Dan and Emma looked to each other while Harry was busy trying to find it in him to turn her plea down. "One night," Dan said.

Hermione let out an excited cry of success, and with parental approval backing her, Harry grudgingly gave in to her demands. She opened the front door as she slipped on her flip-flops and then looked at him expectantly. Sighing, Harry found his new trainers and did the same.

"One thing, Harry," Emma said as he and Hermione were just about to leave. "No being a gentleman and taking the floor. She's made her bed and will lie in it."

Not having a response to Emma preempting his offer long before he even made it, Harry kept quiet while she next turned her attention to Hermione.

"Hermione, if Harry doesn't listen, sleep on the floor anyway to make a point."

Hermione actually smiled at that and said, "Naturally."

"Also, no being stubborn to the point where you two end up sharing the bed."

Harry and Hermione both blushed and looked away from each other.

"At least not until you're older."

"Mum!" Hermione said, clearly mortified.

Equally unamused, but not embarrassed, Dan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Emma, at least let them _be_ older before you start at them like that."

"Oh, fine," Emma huffed.

Ignoring his wife, Dan said, "In all practicality, why don't you two just take the TARDIS? If Hermione is going with you invisibly, you don't have to worry about it being confiscated or broken."

When Hermione looked to Harry, both of them still blushing, he shrugged. While he went up to fetch their portable lodgings, Hermione took the opportunity to store everything awkwardly hanging off her inside her pouch.

With that very embarrassing moment behind them, a period of hugging proceeded. Goodbyes followed, and after walking out to the kerb, Hermione held aloft her wand to call the Knight Bus. Within moments, a bus that looked an awful lot like a repainted Routemaster with an extra level faded into view down the road, but not before honking twice and waking up two or three neighbourhood dogs.

 _Not exactly subtle,_ Harry commented to himself. _I wonder how many spells this bus needs to avoid breaking the Statute of Secrecy every few seconds._

As the bus came to a stop, a somewhat roguish looking man standing on the steps up said, "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike" – the man pointed at a tiny, unreadable nametag on his chest, not looking up from the parchment he was reading off of – "and I will be your conductor for this evening." Only now did this Stan character put away his cue card and look up. "Oh, if it isn't the Granger girl. Leaky Cauldron again?"

"Not tonight, Mr. Shunpike. Privet Drive in Surrey, please."

"Right then. Five sickles." He printed off a ticket and handed it and twelve sickles change to Hermione in exchange for a galleon. Five of those sickles she passed off to Harry before stepping up into the bus.

"Same place," Harry said, holding out his hand.

"Now who's all this, then?"

"My friend, Harry," Hermione answered for him. With any luck, the lack of a last name would go unremarked, as would his scar.

"Well hop aboard, then, Harry."

And with that, they were away. The trip took barely a minute, but even that was long enough to notice that Stan Shunpike was a bit of a storyteller, if one put it nicely. One could also accuse him of lying or simply making up whatever happened to come to mind. He was, however, somewhat entertaining in his own way, even if his plans for becoming the next minister for magic were clearly a flight of fancy.

The trip itself was everything that Hermione had described it as. The Knight Bus ducked and weaved through traffic, occasionally flattening itself horizontally to slip between lanes, and all at the speed of a jet. Harry, however, was already used to the much worse rides to his vault in Gringotts, so the journey was relatively tame in comparison – not that Hermione looked any less queasy or her knuckles any less white when they stepped off the bus onto the edge of Privet Drive. From there, it was a short walk to Number Four, the least pleasant place in the world.

Before they set out, Harry handed over his invisibility cloak and the TARDIS. Then he and an unseen Hermione set off for where they would be sleeping tonight, as much as neither one really wanted to.

Harry paused on the Dursleys' doorstep. The Grangers' house key in his pocket felt a thousand times its weight as he drew his wand to unlock the door. He could _hear_ Hermione's frown.

 _I'm not a helpless little boy anymore. I have a wand. I have friends. I have galleons. I have a place I can run away to. I don't have to put up with anything anymore._

Harry breathed deeply then proceeded.

"Alohomora." Harry would never forget that spell, and it served as well now as it had first year. The door to the Dursleys' house opened, and he stepped inside. Hermione tapped him on the arm to let him know she had, too.

After manually locking the door, Harry turned around and made his way toward the sitting room where, if they were still awake, he would surely find at least his male relatives watching the tele.

 _Please be asleep. Please be asleep._

Harry knew they wouldn't be. Life was never so kind. And really, he had to at least announce himself, or things would become far worse whenever he next ran into them. His steps slowed as Hermione brushed up against him.

 _I'm the one that's normal. How I'm treated is wrong. It won't be pity; it'll be sympathy._

Merlin, but Harry wished Hermione would just go away.

As Harry looked for his relatives, the Dursleys found him. He was barely through a doorway when he spotted the larger whale of a man, Vernon, coming at him with a cricket bat. His wand shot up in reflex. "Protego!"

That proved to be almost unnecessary, however. The bat still struck Harry's shield, but Vernon stopped his charge as a look of recognition came over him. The moment passed as that recognition turned into a triumphant smirk. "Petunia!" he called out. "It's just the freak!"

 _Right… Knocking is important. Especially at night._

Harry heard the faint sound of the kitchen phone being replaced before Petunia called back, "How did he get in?"

Vernon stared down at Harry with that evil grin still on his face. Harry took a half-step away before running into Hermione's invisible hands on his back preventing further retreat.

"That's a good question. How _did_ you get in, Freak?" The way Vernon asked made it clear he already knew the answer, and realising that, Harry understood just why he was so happy. Harry remembered then to cancel his shield spell.

"I unlocked the door with magic," Harry said weakly. He silently cursed himself for it, but when he went to speak again, all that came out was, "I didn't think you'd want anyone to see me waiting on your doorstep. Or that you'd want to bother opening the door for me."

Petunia came into the room then, and she said, "Well?"

"The boy got himself expelled for sure this time. He's flinging his freakishness around like the dullard he's always been. Stealing clothes, too, by the look of it."

"Harry," Hermione whispered in his ear. Her hands moved to his shoulders, and she held him steady despite his attempt to shrink into nothing. "You've faced a dark lord and a basilisk. Don't let these…people bother you." Harry clearly heard her toying with calling the Dursleys freaks before deciding otherwise. "You can do this. I know you can."

"Well, Boy? Where's your trunk? We'll burn that straight away and be done with this nonsense."

Gulping, Harry said, "No." Before Vernon could start yelling, Harry heard Hermione quietly cast a silencing spell just off to his side. Thus emboldened with his uncle unable to say a word and Hermione watching his back, he continued, "I can do magic anytime I want now. Just leave me alone, and I'll leave you alone."

That had to be the most pathetic thing Harry had ever heard.

 _No, no, no, no… I can do better than that. I_ know _I can do better. I_ have to _. I'm not this bad. I'm not. I'm not. I'm not._

 _I am._

 _No._

 _But you are._

 _I'm not. Even if I were–_

 _I am._

 _Stop it! I can't let Hermione see me like this. She'll think–_

"The wards," Hermione whispered. Would it not have given her presence away, Harry would have thanked her for refocusing him before he could really start berating himself.

"I'm here for my safety, but I'm here for yours, as well. I _know_ you know that. Don't – don't you dare try to hold that over me unless you want to end up like my mum!" Slowly building into a righteous fury, Harry continued, "I'm going to sleep here because I _have_ _to_ , and _that's it_. I'll be gone the rest of the day or otherwise stay out of sight, so don't expect me to do your chores for you. I never was and I refuse to be your bloody slave!"

Vernon's face had turned puce halfway through, Harry's rant. His hands were curled into fists, but he'd yet to take a step forward with Harry's wand trained on him.

In the magically enforced silence that followed, Hermione grabbed hold of his free hand and coaxed his own nails out of his palm. She leaned into him and whispered, "Language." Harry blinked. It was such a disconnect that he stopped clenching his teeth and had to fight not to smile just a little.

Moreover, upon reflection, it was likely that Hermione had just stopped this from coming to blows. Vernon looked angry enough to lash out, purpled as he was, and Harry would gladly have returned the favour tenfold with his wand.

Maintaining his indignant bearing as best as he could, Harry moved toward the stairs and his room, if one could call the junk-infested storage room his. "I'm going to bed. See you never." At the top of the stairs, Harry cast a finite in Vernon's general direction, not really caring if his aim was true; the silencing spell would wear off eventually on its own with or without a counterspell.

The door to Harry's room opened itself, or rather, Hermione opened it and stepped inside. She went to close the curtains while Harry closed the door and both silenced and locked it with magic. He next did the same to his window, ensuring that if anyone non-magical wanted in, they would have to knock down a wall.

Not that Harry would put that past the Dursleys, especially Vernon.

"Well, that went well," Hermione said oh so very wrongly. That had been adequate at best. She pulled off the invisibility cloak but kept it handy while she pulled everything else she needed from her pouch.

Still, Harry gave Hermione a brief smile before collapsing onto his awful bed. If he were being honest, the floor might actually be preferable had they not brought what was literally referred to as portable lodgings with them. Hermione set down the TARDIS and expanded it before stepping inside.

Once they had both settled in, unpacked, and Harry felt as at ease as he could expect to be in this house, he said, "We may have to fight our way out tomorrow morning after all that, you know."

"Ha! I'd like to see them try." Hermione soon broke the silence that followed her challenge, asking, "Were they really _worse_ than that before, Harry?"

Hermione had barely seen two minutes of his home life, and every second of them was one Harry wished she would just forget and pretend had never happened. Talking about it years later or in vague, general terms was one thing. Letting her witness it in person and in real time left him with an aching, empty feeling whenever he looked her way. She was not that kind of girl, though. Answering honestly, if quietly, he said, "Yes."

Thankfully, Hermione kept whatever else she wanted to say to herself. Harry was nowhere near in the mood for further discussion on the matter, and he doubted he ever would be. She did, however, say, "We don't live that far apart, you know. I wish we'd have gone to the same primary school or that we'd bumped into each other at a park somewhere. Mum and Dad's practice is even closer."

"That would have been wonderful, but we might not have become friends. No troll and all to get us together."

Hermione rolled her eyes, wandering off toward the open kitchen. "I think your cousin counts," she said as she opened the pantry. "Besides, I hardly think either of us is so bad that we _need_ a troll to do our introductions."

"Well, we'd _at least_ need some accidental magic, say, sticking our hands together for a week."

"You prat. Next you'll be saying we'd have needed to be stuck with each other with a soul bond."

"What's that?" Harry asked, figuring it was probably another one of those things that everyone knew about and never bothered to mention.

"It's a romanticised medical condition. When two people with similar enough magical signatures get too close, their magic entangles, and they can't get too far apart from each other for the rest of their lives. They do share their magic, though, which gives them twice as much available, so there's that." Then on a completely different topic, she asked, "Where did we put the granola bars?"

"Bottom shelf, I think." Looking at it from a less cynical point of view, or perhaps just recognising that there might be a cynical reason behind the illusion, Harry said, "It makes some sense to do that, actually. Romanticise it, that is."

"Aha!" Hermione cried. The sound of a wrapper tearing soon followed, and she reappeared, leaning on the kitchen counter, snack in hand. "How so?"

"Well, if _I_ wound up magically stuck with someone forever without choice, I'd _much_ rather be thinking it was 'meant to be' than that I was really unlucky. It'd at least make first impressions less rocky. Maybe even help long-term."

"Yes, or it could ruin everything by making you believe that you don't have to _be_ friendly and caring to the other," Hermione countered. A moment later, the sharpness left her tone as she said, "But point taken."

"Hey, toss me a chocolate one, would you?" A few moments later, Hermione lobbed a chocolate granola bar across the room to where Harry was lounging on the couch. "So how did you end up stumbling onto a medical condition, anyway? Is there anything I should be worried about?"

Hermione froze for a moment. Then sounding decidedly uneasy, she said, "Um, at our age mostly just dragon pox. I was just doing a bit of research on magical bonds. Like the weird connection you have with Quirrelmort where your scar hurts around him on occasion."

Harry sat up to look properly at Hermione, who was gnawing on her lip and staring at the floor. In all honesty, he wanted to find out what her _real_ reason was, but she looked awfully uncomfortable about it. Maybe some other time she would be more willing to talk. Running with her evasion, he asked, "Did you find anything?"

Hermione shook her head, and Harry caught her sighing to herself – so very suspicious. "Nothing at all matched. Sorry. Headmaster Dumbledore didn't know, either."

"Oh, I forgot to mention that. He said he thinks Quirrelmort transferred some of his powers to me – accidentally, of course. That might have something to do with it. I don't know where in my family tree parseltongue would have come from otherwise."

"Dorea Potter née Black, your paternal grandmother." Harry gave Hermione a strange look at how quickly she came up with that answer. "What? You heard Susan's story, too. The Blacks are infamous for their marriages. They've obtained a huge library and practically every inheritable magical gift through them, which probably includes parseltongue. Tonks's mum is a Black, you know. Well, a disinherited Black, but still a Black. That's where Tonks got her metamorphic ability from. Did you forget you're related?"

Harry flumped back down onto his back. "I really need to learn more about my family, even if all I can get is superficial facts."

"It couldn't hurt, but only if you're prepared for what you find there."

"I hesitate to ask."

"You know how Tonks is your second cousin once removed?"

"Yes?" Harry said nervously, drawing the word out.

"So is Draco Malfoy."

After the shock ran through his system, Harry said, "Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Do you know how to obliviate someone?"

Hermione's laughter said everything for her. "No, but I can help you take your mind off it, perhaps. You're a parselmouth. Do you happen to have any other fantastic abilities that you know of which you've been waiting to reveal at a moment of dramatic climax?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "If I did, I'd be saving them for said looming hypothetical climax, now wouldn't I?"

"Well, yes, but I'd much prefer the revelation to be for our foes, not me."

Shaking his head, Harry let out an amused snort. "Do you count the ability to flee hospitals and infirmaries four times as fast as average?"

"I would, except I think that would fall under your already revealed astounding stubbornness rather than a magical healing ability."

"Like you're one to be talking."

"Ah, excuse you. I was out of the hospital wing this year so quickly because I listened to Madam Pomfrey and asked nicely."

Harry scoffed and shoved the rest of his granola into his mouth.

"At any rate," Hermione said, "you, at least, need to get practising the patronus charm right now. I won't feel very comfortable sending you off next week with just a shield."

 _That almost sounds like_ "you're not coming with?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Do you want me to? I'm still not for this, you know. And it seems like something you usually want to be alone for. Whatever else he is, Sirius Black _is_ family. Literally, even."

"What happened to 'every step of the way'?"

"Harry, be serious. Do you _want_ me to come with?"

Harry could appreciate the idea of getting Sirius Black alone, especially in the small, tiny chance he was actually innocent or with a wand and no supervision otherwise. But this seemed like one of those moments when it made entirely more sense to have someone less emotionally invested and more levelheaded nearby. Hermione certainly qualified on both accounts. No one would accuse Harry of being the sensible, cautious one. Plus, as she said, she was firmly entrenched against this to begin with, so she would be more sceptical of anything they heard – good _or_ bad – than he would be.

"It'd be nice to have backup when confronting dark wizards for once, if you wouldn't mind. It's not like we're in a rush or only have one ticket to Azkaban."

"If that's what you want, Harry, I'll gladly accompany you to make sure you don't make a fool of yourself."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

"We still need to practice tonight, though. It's not like we can magically sum our patronus experience together to get a working one."

"Let's not. I don't know about you, but I'm never going to get it to work _here_." Harry accompanied his words with a wide sweep of his arm, gesturing toward the door out into the house proper. Hermione looked appropriately apologetic but not particularly tired yet. With how late they'd awakened today, he was unsurprised. He suggested instead, "We could get started on legilimency."

Hermione's face brightened immediately. "Alright. You first or me?"

"Well…" Harry said, thinking about it for a moment. "You said you think you'll do well with legilimency, and you think I'm somehow better at occlumency than you."

"Harry, you described yourself as pants at occlumency. I can't even claim to have that level of skill. I'm rubbish. Incapable. Abysmal."

"I'm sure you're not _that_ bad." Although he said that, Harry quietly laughed to himself at the description. "Still, if we can get at least passable at one skill, we can teach each other better. Sound reasonable?"

"Well, it might be better to break routine once in a while, and we should try both before we commit to one, but otherwise that sounds fine." Hermione flicked her wrist to draw her wand as she crossed the room to join him on the couch. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Harry looked Hermione in the eyes and held his gaze there. She drew her wand between them, and a single word was all it took before flashes of his own memories and strange sensations flooded his thoughts.

"Legilimens."

* * *

Fragments of memories blurred together and flew by through Hermione's mind in utter chaos. She caught a vivid image of a blue-haired teacher before the scene lurched to the taste of an absolutely awful primary-school-issued blueberry muffin. Then all she could think of was how good the eggs at brunch today were, except she only had bacon, pancakes, and a fruit salad. That, in turn, brought up the curious thought that Hagrid might not have replaced the Hogwarts roosters yet, and–

"Argh!" Hermione felt her probe crash into the mental equivalent of an immovable wall. The good news was that after at least a dozen repetitions of the same, she felt less disoriented this time, and the pain coursing through her head had lessened. Or that could just be wishful thinking. Or brain damage.

While Hermione was hunched over and busy nursing her head, Harry groaned and massaged his own forehead with both hands. "You okay, Hermione?"

"Yes." Or she would be in a few moments. "This is harder than I thought."

"Then work harder, not smarter."

Hermione groaned this time. She picked herself back up, sitting up straight, and then said, "The snark is not appreciated."

Harry was strangely silent while Hermione worked herself back into shape, but he soon turned to humming. Then when he was done with that, he said, "Sorry. I can't think of an appropriate snarky follow-up."

"Good," Hermione said, drawing her wand up again. "This is frustrating enough already."

"You know, you _can_ try peeking at my thoughts instead. Those are _supposed_ to be fragmented and choppy, and some of them crept in on that last try."

"That's exactly the problem," Hermione huffed out. What were once her high hopes for legilimency being not too difficult were now shattered and broken, but she refused to give up doing this properly and develop bad habits in the process. "I wouldn't be able to tell if I'm doing it right or not, then. Not really."

Harry shrugged. "You had a little success pulling thoughts earlier."

"We don't know that," Hermione retorted, "and only by accident. I can't even tell if I'm looking at a thought or a memory most of the time. I can't even tell when I'm about to run right into the edge of your mind and crash! Besides, you're just saying that because you managed to kick me out that time."

"Yes, somehow, but I didn't stop a single thought from getting to you. That's not a successful defence of any kind." Harry held up his hands at the frustrated glare Hermione sent his way before she could stop herself. "Just making an observation. If your translation was right – which I'm sure it is – you have to be able to focus _and_ completely comprehend what you find in real time _and_ follow the right links through the mind. Thoughts should be easier. Or you could try going into the part of the brain processing touch instead, or smell, or hearing, or whatever; there's not much to them."

"No. I swear I held that image of…Mrs. Johnson, was it? Your year four teacher?" Harry nodded, so a little less frustrated now for the minor success, Hermione continued, "I swear I held that memory fragment longer than usual. Or it was clearer, at least. I think I even caught a glimpse of where I _should_ have gone to get to the next fragment. And her blue hair – that was accidental magic, right?"

Nodding, Harry said, "Wait till you see the time I accidentally trapped Dudley in an exhibit at the reptile house. I got locked in my cupboard when we got back, but it was worth it."

"If you say so. Still, I hit the right _kind_ of memory. That counts for something."

"If you say so," Harry echoed back.

"I do." Hermione whipped her wand back into place. "Now let's try again. Legilimens."

* * *

The pleasant thought of reading in Hogwarts's library passed in an instant only to be replaced with the thud of a mental probe colliding with a mental wall. A groan escaped Hermione as she rubbed small circles along her aching forehead. This was really starting to hurt, much like a particularly intense – if brief – migraine.

 _That had to be my shortest attempt yet. Urgh…_

Suddenly, the memory fragment Hermione had gotten from Harry more fully processed in her mind.

"You–"

"Shut up," Harry said.

"You actually–"

"Don't you dare say a word!" Harry said more strongly.

"You read–"

Putting his hands over his ears, Harry said, "I can't hear you. Whatever you're saying, it never happened."

Pressing through the snickers escaping her, Hermione said, "You actually read _The Adventures of the Boy-Who-Lived_!"

That was it. Hermione was defeated. She collapsed into a laughing fit, unable to control herself. A dizzy feeling struck her as she started wheezing for air, but the giggles never ceased. One look at the blush coating Harry's entire face set her off all over again just as she was about to recover. It got so bad that she even accidentally rolled herself off of the couch.

"It was an engaging read," Harry said in his terribly feeble defence.

"Uh-huh. Which book was that? The one with the–" A snicker escaped Hermione, but she managed to press on despite it. "–the unicorn princess or the sparkling vampires?"

"The…the unicorn princess," Harry admitted. After a second, his eyes narrowed. "How do _you_ know about that?"

Admitting nothing, Hermione started listing names. "Brown. Patil. Ginny. Spinnet."

"Stop," Harry said, his head buried in his hands. "Can we just pretend you never saw anything?"

Hermione quirked her eyebrows.

"Okay, how about this? You never speak a word of this to anyone before I start getting into your head, and then we'll just mutually hold blackmail material over each other unto the end of time."

"I can agree to that." Hermione brought her wand up. "Legilimens."

* * *

The terrifying feeling of not knowing where he was or how she got there faded into an adrenaline high as he brushed a pair of fingers through the cool cloud bank above Hogwarts, but that jerked into a feeling of weightlessness as he nose dived toward the ground during a quidditch match, which blurred into a suffocating feeling of being squeezed through a pipe and stretched out in a way no seven-year-old boy should ever be.

And then there was the familiar pain of a cannonball smashing against his thoughts, for lack of an actual body part to cry over, as Hermione unintentionally attempted to leave the boundaries of Harry's mind.

"You know," Harry said, frustratingly getting used to the feeling of Hermione's legilimency probe imploding, "maybe you should work on your exits first."

"It's not like I'm not trying!" Hermione snapped.

Harry looked to Hermione. He could see the frustration ever growing within on her face; failure was a word she used to describe others, not herself. She was still rubbing her head, too. Some part of him wondered if they were accruing actual brain damage, but nothing in the legilimency book Hermione had copied nor any occlumency book had warned them as such.

Harry sighed. It was getting late. Hermione was clearly growing tired and testy. It felt weird being the responsible one, but he resolved to keep an eye on the clock and get them both to bed before the hour was out.

Wand flying up without a further moment's delay, Hermione said the word for the fifty-something-plus-oneth time. "Legilimens."

* * *

Snakes could talk. Somehow, despite how crazy that was, it also felt right. Harry's thoughts drifted back to the snake he'd met at the reptile house a week ago as he sought out the little garden snake living in the backyard. If no humans wanted to be his friend, maybe a snake would. When he finally found it and started up a conversation – if not a very intellectual one – his elated feeling mixed with a strange sense of triumph.

And then Harry's memories churned wildly and out of control following any train of thought but the one they were supposed to. They skipped about at random until, finally, as was her ultimate fate each and every time, Hermione crashed into the edge of Harry's mind.

Hermione screamed in frustration and slammed a foot against a cushion, which knocked her off the much heavier couch onto her back, her legs trailing behind above her. "I had it! _I had it_!" She slammed her other foot against the same poor cushion, and it endured without complaint. In the magical world, that should never be taken for granted.

"I had it," Hermione murmured. Harry's memory of trapping his cousin in an exhibit with accidental magic had been within her grasp, just one step away, and her elated feelings of success had taken it from her. "I got excited and lost control!"

Before Harry could say more than her name, Hermione shot to her feet, twirling in place with her arm swinging out. At the top of her lungs, she screamed, "Legilimens!"

"Promise not to laugh?" Hermione nodded her head and when that wasn't enough for herself, she said so aloud. Then the her across the room covered in sawdust said, "Opposites. I'm usually not…poetic–"

The scene shifted as one memory lurched into another.

"Books and cleverness. There are more important things: friendship, and bravery, and…" And there was an overwhelming curiosity to know how Hermione had been going to finish that. It would be a nice thought to think it might have been love; no one had ever said that to her that she could remember. Having someone care for her like family should would be a dream come true.

The scene shifted back with all the grace of a rampaging nundu as Hermione twisted her probe back the way it'd come.

Hermione – or was it Harry? – shook herself by the shoulders, desperate to get her attention and calling out her name. Accidental magic – on the rare times it happened – got worse as witches and wizards got older and gained more power. Everything about the room was only floating right now, but the signs of something _more_ stirring were in the air.

And then came the inevitable crash.

Collapsing forward in the real world, Hermione let out another cry of frustration. At no point had she expected to learn legilimency in one night, but this snail's pace was more embarrassing than her continual failures with the patronus charm. At least _there_ it was simply a process of finding the right memory and mood: complete trial and error, nothing to worry about. But this – _this_ was like being slapped in the face over and over again with a whole _pile_ of bad reports.

"Why." Hermione hit her head on couch. "Am." Again, her head went up and came back down. "I. So. Bad. At. This?" Each word was punctuated by a cushioned blow to the forehead. It was far from painful, but it helped get the feelings of failure out, much like punching a pillow.

"Um, Hermione?"

"What!" Hermione whipped her head up to look at Harry.

"I… Um…" Twiddling his fingers nervously, Harry said, "About what you just saw…"

Hermione quickly searched through the fragments of memories she'd witnessed. Thankfully, she was getting complete sentences from memories that had associated words now, or at least dependent clauses, so it was easier to process and deal with the choppiness. One in particular stuck out as something that could make Harry uncomfortable.

 _Argh!_ On instinct, Hermione stomped on the sudden urge to tell Harry everything he wanted to hear exactly as he wanted to hear it. Merlin, but she _loathed_ life debts. It'd been _so quiet_ for so long now; she'd almost forgotten how to deal with it. She briefly thought about lying or otherwise brushing the topic off, but lying now would only come back to bite her later when Harry inevitably stumbled onto a related memory of her own.

"I was. I do," Hermione said brusquely. "Not the storge that you were looking for–"

Hermione noticed the confused look underneath all the other emotions bubbling up onto Harry's face and tried again.

"That is, not like a brother – not that I have one to compare to – but it's probably not far off from the kind of platonic affection you were looking for. I'm sure Ron would say something similar if you could get him to talk about his feelings in any meaningful sense."

That done with, Hermione brought her wand back up for another go at legilimency. The only problem was Harry's eyes weren't meeting hers.

"What? Do you want to hear me say it? I love you. You're a great friend. There. Let's get on with this."

"I… Hermione, I think you'd use your time better sleeping right now and trying again in the morning." Before Hermione could protest, Harry quietly added, "Your parents wanted us to go to bed at a reasonable time, too, and yo – _it_ stopped being reasonable a half-hour ago."

Crossing her arms, her wand tapping against her shoulder, Hermione harrumphed. She supposed Harry had a point, as furtherly frustrating as that was. Going to bed sort of on time would be the responsible thing to do.

But _legilimency_! She was so close to a breakthrough. She could feel it! It would only take a few more tries, surely. It would only take a few more attempts to fix her problems. She knew exactly what she was doing wrong – probably.

But no, her sense of responsibility won this day. "Fine," Hermione said. She levitated her sleeping bag and pillow within reach and quickly found her way into them while, kicking Harry off the couch in the process. She only then remembered to slip off her robes and then threw them across the back of the couch. Finally, with the invisibility cloak covering her just to avoid arguing with Harry over the pointlessness of the act, she said, "Goodnight."

With a flick of her wand, Hermione was dead to the world. After all, the sooner she went to sleep, the sooner she could wake up.

* * *

Harry watched from where Hermione had pushed him onto the floor as she magicked herself asleep. Not that he could see much with her underneath his cloak, but the cushions moved, and there was a very definite flump after she said the incantation.

A minute passed as Harry gathered his thoughts from every direction they'd run off in. It seemed fitting, somehow, that the first person ever to hug him – his parents excluded, presumably – would also be the first person to openly admit to loving him, even if it _had_ been the absolute terror of a girl that was a stressed and frustrated Hermione Granger. He supposed they'd both heavily implied it this morning, but hearing it explicitly was another thing entirely.

Harry breathed deep and kept himself from doing anything silly like crying or, far worse, something burningly shameful like freaking out and shoving away a girl trying to give him a mere thank you kiss on the cheek. The list of people he was fine having extended contact with had apparently still only included Hermione at the time. That probably was still true.

He really should apologise to Susan again sometime.

Instead of running away, Harry scooped up Hermione and, after a short yet exhausting trip, deposited her on the TARDIS's bed. Since there was both another one nearby and a couch, that _technically_ allowed him to keep both of their promises about their sleeping arrangements.

Still, sleep would be a long time coming, he knew. Rather than even trying, Harry turned his thoughts onto the very practical matter of their legilimency and occlumency practice.

Harry could admit that he understood Hermione's frustration. Every time she launched an attack, he could tell what she was doing. He could _feel_ the paths she was weaving through his mind, as frenetic as they were.

After Hermione's initial entry, which he still had no clue how to deflect, every fragment of a memory, thought, or sensation she called up had dozens, if not hundreds or thousands, of links leaving it to something related. The mind employed what the untidy usually referred to as 'organised chaos' to store information. There were no neat, sequential pieces of data. No, the mind rejected that idea in favour of scattering it all about wherever there was room. If a memory needed five fragments to be recorded, it settled into the first five available ones, wherever they were. Links were then added between two memories whenever they were accessed together or simply if they were similar enough.

The drawback of that scheme, of course, was that finding something specific without somewhere to start looking was a nightmare. The human brain solved that problem with an absurd amount of parallel processing, or so Hermione claimed her books claimed.

The _major_ advantage of that scheme, however, was that it avoided the difficulty of having to keep things sorted and the impossible task of determining what it would actually mean to _physically_ sort memories 'adjacent' to potentially thousands of others by time, subject, distantly related concepts, and any other category one cared to name. Trying to imagine that in anything more than the most abstract sense gave Harry a headache. He much preferred to stick to the much more easily visualised realm of three or less dimensions.

The task of the legilimens, then, was to follow the right links from memory to memory to assemble the whole book of information from the scattered, randomly placed pages, to use Hermione's own wording. Thoughts and sensations were only different in that there was only ever one _correct_ link that allowed the legilimens not to veer off into a memory.

It was a simple task on paper.

The occlumens's job was the exact opposite. Unlike the legilimens, whose role was to overcome any deception, the occlumens was left with plenty of room to get _creative_ , if he possessed enough skill. If the legilimens was welcome, he could guide her probe down the right paths. If not, then there were a variety of ways to take care of the intruder.

Harry's ultimate goal, the best technique, was to pretend to be someone else until the attack was over or defeated – if one let a probe in to begin with, of course. One could guide the initial probe into the part of the brain that handled imagination and, from there, provide dummy memories. Further, _if_ the occlumens was good enough, and that was a big and rarely satisfied if, then the legilimens would never notice the difference.

At the moment, the method of occlumency Harry was attempting was to trick Hermione into going down the wrong paths and have her probe follow a dead link to crash into a part of his mind that was just not there. It was inelegant, and it hurt them both, but it worked, and it was simple.

Or it worked against Hermione, at least – possibly. He doubted he could fool a master legilimens that way. To be honest, Harry was less sure that he was doing anything at all than that she was just crashing on her own. He always gave her some time to practice before trying to evict her, and on more than half of her attempts, she crashed unaided all on her own.

The chief difficulty he had right now, Harry decided, was practising with an inconsistent partner. He suspected that once Hermione managed to master the very basics of legilimency, his own task would become much easier to complete.

Sighing, Harry abandoned his thoughts on occlumency as a lost cause. There was little he could do with Hermione asleep. That, and he really wanted her out of his mind for the near future. He needed time to let his thoughts and feelings settle. Not that he'd had much luck with that so far. He'd known, abstractly, going into this that he'd signed up for what amounted to zero privacy and no secrets between himself and Hermione, but knowing that made the exposure no less intense.

Interrupting another sigh, Harry's gaze fell on the package he'd received earlier today and forgotten about. That, perhaps, would serve as a distraction from all these _feelings_. Hermione would probably tease him for being a 'feelings are dumb boy' if she found out, but he could deal with _that_ easily enough.

Harry crossed the room, picking up his gift along the way, and sat down at the small dining table next to the kitchen. Lacking a box opener or scissors – and really not knowing where he was supposed to open the box – he forwent attempting a counter spell and retrieved a bread knife from the kitchen. If the box _did_ pose a threat even here at the Dursleys' inside a truly inspiring number of wards, it would probably be less likely to trigger from using mundane and unexpected means to open it, or so he hoped.

Inside, at the bottom of the box, lay a small loosely bound paperback book – _paper_ , not parchment. Atop the book, which had no title or author on the cover, was an envelope simply addressed to Harry Potter. Shrugging, he opened that first.

 _Harry Potter,_ the letter within read. _Although unintended, you have done me a very great service this year, and it has never been said that I do not pay my debts. Enclosed, you will find information I've, let's say, gathered on a subject that will surely interest you. Take great caution in any action you pursue, and be even more careful in who you reveal this to. Tom Riddle may be your prophesied foe, but unless I have erred in my judgement, he is not your destined opponent._

 _Enjoy your summer._

The letter was unsigned. Harry scrunched his brows together as he read it, utterly lost. Then, only moments after he finished, his eyes shot back to the one word he absolutely _did not_ want associated with himself.

"Shite!" Harry leapt to his feet and slammed his hands onto the dining table, sending his chair flying in the process. He really doubted this was a prank, and if it were, it _would not_ be funny. "Of course there's a bloody prophecy! Why did I let Hermione convince me otherwise?"

 _So what?_ came the little voice of reason in the back of Harry's head. It sounded an awful lot like Hermione. _How does this change your course of action?_

Harry froze as he tried to rebuff that question. Really, what _would_ he be doing differently? Hermione had already talked him into preparing for the worst, and even if he had the magic and the skills to do so, he would hardly go on an assassination spree to remove any support Quirrelmort had or would receive.

 _I'd still have to kill him._

But really, what was one more death? He had enough blood on his hands already; he doubted he would notice any more.

 _No, that's not true. That's just guilt preying on me. Hermione would kick my arse if I thought like that._

And speaking of whom, Hermione herself had already committed to the danger of being his friend and partner, plus or minus Ron next year. Trying to push her away would only result in her growing ever more stubborn and irritated.

And besides, Harry had no idea what the prophecy actually said, or even if there was, in fact, a prophecy. If so, maybe it said something utterly camp but simple, like Quirrelmort being unable to stand the power of love and that he would die if Harry and Hermione kissed in front of him.

Harry quickly shoved that thought aside into the deep recesses of his mind where Hermione would likely never tread. _Stupid hormones,_ he grumbled.

So what? Harry found he was having a surprisingly difficult time answering that question. There probably _was_ an answer, but given how non-obvious it must be, maybe he was overreacting. At least he had a goal now. At least he knew why Quirrelmort had destroyed his family now. At least he knew there was _a reason_ for everything terrible in his life now; he was no longer a cruel cosmic joke.

At least he had hope now.

As maddeningly roundabout as it was, that was the logical conclusion. If there was a prophecy that made Quirrelmort take action, Harry _was_ _a threat_ to him somehow. That he acted, of course, meant that Harry was almost certainly _not guaranteed_ a victory, but at least there was apparently a real chance of one. Harry would try to keep that in mind; some optimism would do him a world of good.

As soon as Hermione woke up, though, he had to tell her. While Harry doubted she would back off or run away, he owed it to her to let her make an informed decision.

Harry slumped onto the next chair over, leaving the one knocked down where it lay for the moment. His eyes fell onto the one innocent little piece of paper that contained such a terrible secret.

 _What was it that it said about a destined foe?_ Harry picked up the letter and read through it again, skipping over the dreaded P word. _Okay, it says destined opponent. Same thing. I don't get it._ He turned his gaze to the box that had started all this, within which was a book that hopefully contained nothing nearly as shocking. As he held it in his hand, however, he noted that there were an awful lot more pages than the singular little slip of paper the letter had been. Each and every one could be just as terrible or worse. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Harry opened the book. Bad idea or not, it was done.

"What on Earth is all this… Maps? Transcripts? Runes…I think? Wards, maybe?"

The deeper Harry ventured into the book, the more confused he got. Little of it made any sense to him, and what did still lacked enough context to fully comprehend. About the only unambiguous thing was one single map, which despite being littered with other notes, contained a clearly labelled town nearby: Wendover – wherever that was.

"This is a bloody treasure map, isn't it?"

There was no X to mark the location of a secret pirate cove, haunted burial site, hidden ruins, or the like, but the remainder of the book probably had that in word form in some manner. The rest must have been at least a partial list of magical defences placed around the 'treasure', whatever it was.

Harry flipped through the book again for a name to put to this joke, and when he came up empty, he tried the usual tricks. The very few relevant revealing spells he knew did nothing. Holding it up to a fire did nothing. Reading down the line of first characters in the letter and book produced gibberish, as did the last ones and the diagonals.

"No, don't be _helpful_ or anything, whoever you are," Harry muttered. "It's not like I'm twelve and don't know the first thing about breaking wards and fighting, I don't know, zombies or something. I certainly wouldn't want you to just give me whatever bloody prize this is all for. Noooo."

The worst part, though, was that ignoring this tripe would probably come back to haunt him soon enough. It was as if another Dobby had appeared, but this year Harry's mysterious new 'friend' had decided to be possibly the slightest bit helpful, slightly intelligent in going about being helpful, and a thousand times more annoying.

Sighing, Harry tossed the book back into its box. He glanced at the letter with that P word he was deliberately not thinking about on it.

"Nope. I'm done. Hermione had the right idea." After gathering the blankets and pillow from the bed outside, Harry laid down on the couch and promptly magicked himself to sleep.

* * *

 _Oh no! Oh no!_ Hermione frantically thought to herself. Curled up in the darkness of her sleeping bag with the end firmly sealed shut beneath her own weight, she was alone with her thoughts – for now. _What on Earth did I say last night?_

 _No. No, it's fine. There's no way that would have scared Harry off. If anything, it'd make him ask for more than I could give him. I mean, I probably wouldn't say no if he asked to go on a date; I'd at least give it a try for him, never mind the drama. Not that I'm – no, not being Lavender Brown. But Harry still needs to get his head out of the past. He's still far too interested in what might have been instead of what is. Although it_ was _a good sign to hear him thinking about the future seriously, even if he's only just starting out._

 _No, I'm getting off track! If I'm remembering his memory correctly, Harry was thinking in terms of siblings, or cousins, or whatever. Family. Surely the only way he could've taken what I said wrong was if he thought I was just telling him what he wanted to hear, that I didn't really mean it. Sure, I was exhausted and vexed beyond belief, but I_ did _mean what I said. I don't think I_ can _say something I don't mean when I'm like that. I know have a one-track mind when I'm so frustrated; everything else I just sort of shove out of the way as quickly – and bluntly – as possible. Like when exams come up… Not exactly something I'm proud of…_

 _But really, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. There's nothing I_ should _be embarrassed about. Emotions are nothing to be ashamed of. It's Harry's problem if he makes something of this._

 _Oooooh, but it's so soon after he_ really _opened up to me. What if I've gone and made him feel too awkward around me to be that relaxed anymore? What if I've ruined all of our summer plans?_

 _Argh! Why does everything always find a way to come back to this? It's like we're cursed. Doomed to forever be a ship tease to everyone around us. And Harry is bloody oblivious to it, that prat! My life is supposed to be a magical adventure, a high fantasy, not a frivolous romantic comedy._

 _No. No, I'm overthinking things. Those are obviously worst-case scenarios. I shouldn't freak out. If I'm a mess, how can I expect Harry to be any different? Right. Just be casual, Hermione. You've done nothing worth mentioning. This is exactly the kind of thing that you prepared yourself to deal with when learning legilimency. You_ know _Harry is going to find out you'd once taken a fancy to him. You_ know _he's going to find that memory of injuring your eye with a rubber duck while naked. You_ know _he's going to find out that you really don't like Ron. You're going to see that kind of stuff and far worse besides in his head, too._

 _The best you can hope for is hiding your sorting. And the mirror. And the life debt._ Hermione groaned at the futility of it all. _Even if you_ could _hide all that, you_ know _how this sort of story goes. He'll either find all that right away, or he'll find out at a critical moment where every second counts, and his doubts will get him killed in some sort of foolish noble sacrifice to make amends for something he never needed to, and then you spend the rest of your life mourning him, and great! Now your life debt is flaring up and urging you to be genre savvy and tell him everything. Good going, Granger._

Hermione sighed as she forced herself out of a ball within her cocoon.

 _Maybe I should just get it over with all at once. If I threw everything at Harry in the span of two minutes, maybe he'd be so confused that nothing would happen._

 _Heh. Wishful thinking…_

Sighing again, Hermione fell back on her original plan to simply act as casually as she could. The rest she could procrastinate on if for no other reason than to spite her life debt. Even so, she still found herself unable to leave the security of her snug, comforting cocoon.

And despite her conviction to be casual about this, Hermione still let out a small eep whenever she heard a sound from somewhere else in the TARDIS, real or imagined. And admittedly, most, if not all, were probably the latter.

 _Come on, girl,_ Hermione rebuked herself. _You're just being silly now. You're acting like Ginny. Practically jumping at shadows!_ Really, at that point, enough was entirely enough. Hermione felt embarrassed just _watching_ Ginny make a fool of herself; she refused to let the comparison last a moment longer. Besides, Harry was likely in another room, anyway.

Hermione snapped upright. Taking in her surroundings, she realised that she was not on the couch she _knew_ she'd fallen asleep on. Instead, it appeared that Harry had relocated her to _his_ bed, even after her mum had explicitly told him not to give it up _and_ after Hermione had insisted on those terms as well.

"You prat," Hermione mumbled. Sighing, she forced herself out of bed and got up to face the day. She could shower and change at home, so after quickly pretending her hair was brushable, she made her way out into the main room of the TARDIS. If Harry was awake, she would be having words with him.

The first thing Hermione noticed, although only barely, was that Harry was, in fact, _not_ awake. Apparently, he thought that lying on a couch with a ratty sheet and a rag that sort of looked like a pillow qualified as an acceptable sleeping arrangement. Sighing, she debated the merits of attempting to levitate him into his bed versus just carrying him. In the end, she decided that at her age, it was safer and more reliable to just carry him; he was still short and as thin as a twig despite having developed some muscle, so it was hardly an ordeal.

That done, Hermione closed the door to the bedroom and silenced it behind her on the very off chance she made too much noise. Harry was completely out of it, and she expected him to wake up in no shorter time than an hour no matter what might happen.

Back in the dining room, Hermione nearly stumbled over a chair lying on its back on the ground. "How odd," she said as she righted it. Harry was not much inclined to messes, especially not when it involved just a single object.

The package Harry had received yesterday and then completely forgotten lay on top of the dining table, now very definitely opened. And while the box still contained a book of some variety, an envelope and letter that must have once been inside rested right beside it. Curious, Hermione assumed that Harry would have put everything away or thrown it out if he wanted to keep it all to himself, so she grabbed hold of the letter.

 _You realise that's a huge rationalisation, right?_ Hermione asked herself.

 _Yeah._

 _Good. As long as we recognise that._

Hermione read through the short letter.

And then she read through it again.

 _Oh, I hate being wrong._ Gnawing on her lip, Hermione pondered the odds that whoever wrote this letter had no idea what they were talking about, were making things up, or found it amusing to be deliberately misleading. _Not high…_ she admitted. _This would be an awful lot of effort for a prank._

That was yet another task to add to Hermione's absurdly long list of things to do this summer: verify the existence of a prophecy. Lady Bones would be a good person to ask when they saw her on the thirtieth. If anyone would know where to find a record or a copy of a prophecy, surely it would be the head of the DMLE.

 _I wonder if the book this letter referred to has a transcription of it._

 _Not that that's any of your business, you nosey witch._

 _Whose side are you on, anyway?_ Hermione asked herself. Not that the other part of her mind was entirely devoid of a point. This _was_ Harry's business to share with her if he so chose. She knew he probably would, and he _had_ left everything out where she could easily find it. And he _did_ know how curious she could get.

 _I am totally rationalising again, aren't I?_

 _Yep._

 _Okay. Brilliant._

Hermione plucked the book from its box and started reading. Well, reading might be too generous a word. Rather, she started interpreting.

 _What on Earth is all this…_

* * *

Hermione shrieked as a pair of fingers snapped in her face. The atlas in her hand nearly went flying as she jumped in her seat at the kitchen countertop. The other reference books spread out down the line fared little better in their treatment.

"You know," Harry said, "one of these days, it'll either be your focus or your curiosity that gets you killed."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." Hermione was having a hard time deciding between a glare and a rather sheepish look. On the one hand, she _had_ been caught red-handed, as it were, but on the other, Harry was _so very irritating_.

As he pulled up a chair to the other side of the island, Harry asked, "So did you figure out where the treasure is?"

"Somewhere near Wendover…"

Harry rolled his eyes, but now that Hermione actually looked, there was a rather nervous air about his bearing. That brought her earlier panic back to mind, but she forced it down during his predictably sarcastic response. "Yes, I figured that out already. Not that I know how we'll manage to get to it, let alone if it's worth the effort or even legal to do so."

"Well, between the two of us, I doubt we'd find it a financial hardship to hire a team of professional curse-breakers and warders."

From the blank look on his face, Hermione could only assume that the thought had never even occurred to Harry. She pushed down her laughter and placed a pitying expression on her face. She pulled one of his hands across the table into hers and patted the back of it with her other.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry I even suggested that. Don't worry. You can be the star of our little summer misadventure, too, and stumble blindly into danger while nearly dying."

"Ha, ha," Harry said, echoing Hermione's earlier words. "Very funny."

"Honestly, though, it shouldn't be too difficult to get whatever it is that 'will surely interest you'."

"If you say so." Harry fell silent for a few seconds and stared down at his hands. "And the prophecy?"

 _Ah._ So that was what was bothering Harry so much. Better over that than over what Hermione had said last night. "If there is one and if Quirrelmort has been acting on it, then there must be a paper trail of some sort somewhere. Besides the literal one." Hermione gestured at the letter resting back over on the dining table. "I'd suggest asking Lady Bones when we see her if she can help us. If there's a copy or information on it available at the ministry, she would probably know."

After Hermione had endured a bit of a searching look, the tension visibly left Harry's shoulders. "Do you think if we asked the headmaster, he would tell us? He must at least know of it, considering that he specifically sent my parents into hiding with me. They weren't the only people with children fighting, after all, nor the only ones being targeted."

"No occlumency, no secrets." After pausing a moment to consider it, Hermione added, "And maybe not even then, for whatever reason. Not that I think there's a real reason to keep the information from you at that point. If someone had the time and opportunity to launch a full legilimency attack on you and win, they might as well just lop off your head while they're at it and be done with it."

"Yes, because I needed that imagery, thank you."

Hermione grinned. "Happy to be of service. And think of it this way. If they don't quite get your head all the way off, you and Sir Nicholas could form a nearly headless hunt. He does always look so sad when the properly headless hunt goes off and plays their games without him, you know."

"And I think we're done here," Harry said. He got up, walked around to Hermione's side of the counter, and started pushing her toward the door. "I never thought I'd say this to you, but we have studying to do, so let's get going already."

* * *

 **A/N:** First off, before I forget again, thanks goes to my prereader, Owen Hinds, for taking the time to critique and check for grammar. Second, I offer up a shameless promotion for my Patrreon page (and yes, I know that's misspelled; it's a forbidden word here, it seems). I go by plain 'Forthwith' there, or you can find a link (sort of) on my profile page. Fan fiction I write is free, of course, but I won't complain if you want to send money my way. TAs and RAs don't pay all that well because we live in an imperfect world.

Next, through a long series of events of little interest to anyone but me, I'm coming back to this after writing a bunch of (as yet unpublished) Code Geass stuff. I don't think I ever realized just how _mundane_ the Harry Potter world is before writing Lelouch, Kallen, etc. It's really kind of baffling.

Anyway, expect the next chapter (tentatively titled _Constant Vigilance_ ) in 2-4 weeks depending on how hard a looming paper deadline hits me.


	9. Constant Vigilance

**A/N:** JKR owns Harry Potter.

* * *

Act Two - A Black Comedy  
Chapter Eight - Constant Vigilance

The early summer days passed quickly for Hermione, and she suspected Harry felt similarly. For perhaps the first time since she'd been six, she could unequivocally state that life was good. Maybe she and Harry had a dozen awful things to look forward to in the future, but they had each other and plenty to do.

"Harry?"

Not getting an answer, Hermione stepped inside the TARDIS to look for him. She passed through the sitting room, smiling at the stacks of paper and books left out on the desk. Harry's progress in the physical sciences was proceeding well enough. As she'd first thought that morning after their night on the Astronomy Tower, holding his attention was easy; one merely had to give him material that he could do something with. Having transfiguration available made that simple enough. Somewhere nearby, Harry probably still had the plans to his giant Van de Graaff generator he'd pilfered from a book lying around.

A frown briefly passed over Hermione's face; surprise five-hundred kilovolt shocks were never fun. Still, her smile returned swiftly enough as one particular memory of that project surfaced.

"You're not so bad at maths as you made yourself out to be," Hermione had said while looking over Harry's shoulder. He'd not been performing any truly inspired calculations, but he'd made a good showing nonetheless whilst in pursuit of not electrocuting himself.

"Yes, well, I'm literate and can 'plug and chug' with the best of them."

Chuckling, Hermione had amused herself at his expense by tousling his perpetually messy hair. "We'll make an engineer of you yet," she'd said before adding, "you clever raven."

Yes, the future might be filled with stormy weather, but the sun shone on the present with nary a cloud to be seen.

That was not counting today, of course. Harry still intended to go through with his plans.

With a sigh, Hermione opened the door to their potions lab. Inside, all she found were the room's usual contents. Their stores were off in an adjoining room and undisturbed. The main room had a cauldron brewing more polyjuice, just in case, but everything else had been cleaned and put away. The second and smaller adjoining room held a few bottled final results on shelves but was otherwise empty.

There was also her dad's mess off in a corner, but Hermione paid that no mind. Really, him joining her and Harry while they brewed still irked her somewhat. Harry had entirely forgotten about asking to learn how to cook over a fire pit until he'd placed a cauldron over a fire in Dan's presence. Now her diet had a sudden spike in protein.

Moving on, Hermione opened the door to the room designated as the experimental chamber. Anything that had a chance of blowing up in their faces was relegated to being tested in the empty room. And it was indeed empty. Harry was not present there, either.

Hermione next checked Harry's bedroom. Although he'd reported no altercations with the Dursleys since his first night at their home with her, she half expected to find him on his bed trying to sleep off something that needed healing. She figured it would still be a year or two at minimum before she'd get him to come straight to her immediately after being injured. She held no illusions about him actually seeking professional medical help on his own.

Not finding Harry asleep or otherwise relaxing in bed, she called out, "Harry?" The door to the bathroom was open and the light off. She pushed open the door to the TARDIS's drearily empty library, finding no one.

"Harry!" Hermione tried one last time. Still not getting a response, she left the TARDIS to explore her house.

Just outside, Hermione nearly tripped over a dangling cord, catching herself just shy of falling. She levitated the television and VCR into a corner and pushed the surrounding movies away with her foot.

 _Note to self: properly clean up after brewing. That, or find a way to get electronics to work inside the TARDIS._

Brewing potions led to a fair amount of mentally unstimulating time, to put it politely. Hermione freely admitted that. Movies were perhaps the best way to fill the void. Harry desperately needed more _positive_ exposure to muggle culture, and she happily provided. _Monty Python_ , _Doctor Who_ , _Star_ _Wars_ – they all captured his interest, and there was a lot more where they came from.

Hermione next paid a visit to the second floor parlour, seeing as it was nearby. She rather doubted Harry would be there, and she was right. While _she_ had good memories within, he tended to avoid the room outside their occlumency and legilimency practice. Harry, Hermione knew, associated the parlour with embarrassment, mutual tears, and clingy, desperate hugs.

Harry had been so horribly right when he'd told Hermione she'd not want to see or experience his early memories.

Still not finding Harry, Hermione headed downstairs and outside to the veranda. There she allowed good memories to fill her, patronus memories. Harry had made marginal gains for his efforts while Hermione languished behind with barely a flash of light. To call it frustrating would be like saying it rained in Scotland sometimes. Even so, happy memories remained happy memories. Practising each morning on the veranda brought them naturally to mind, displacing any others.

Eventually, Hermione found Harry on the first floor study at the family computer. From her mokeskin pouch, she withdrew Daphne's box of chocolates. It was far too soon – in Hermione's opinion, at least – for Harry to make the trip to Azkaban to meet Sirius Black, but Harry's patronus was passable enough for them to make the journey under careful supervision.

Still, with no corporeal patronus between them, they were _really_ tempting fate.

"Solitaire, Harry?" Hermione asked. She leaned against the back of the desk chair Harry was sitting on to peer over his shoulder. "Really? Today?"

"You said I could play games on it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, but _solitaire_? We _have_ a few decks of playing cards, you know."

"Yes, but this is more mind-numbing."

"Of all the things you can do with a computer, you use it to bore yourself to death. Only you, Harry."

By the rapid rising and falling of his chest, Hermione assumed Harry was laughing silently to himself. Still, it was hardly like him to idle away time with boredom when he could be brooding instead.

"Nervous?" Hermione asked.

Harry paused his mindless clicking for a moment to give her a look that said, "Of course, you nitwit."

"Okay, I suppose I deserved that," Hermione admitted. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"And you're sure you still want to go through with this?"

"Yes."

"And you still want me to come with?"

"Yes, Hermione. Please. Just…leave it be until we actually leave."

"I will after one last thing." Hermione reached around the chair and set her veritaserum-laced chocolates on Harry's lap. He picked up the box, curious, and examined it. While its browns and blacks were the usual colouring for a generic chocolate bar, it was otherwise unlabelled.

"What's this?"

"Chocolate," Hermione replied, earning a raised eyebrow from Harry.

"I thought chocolate was a contraband in this house."

"You prat," Hermione said. "Just because we don't eat it much doesn't mean we _never_ eat it."

"Ooookay," Harry replied, clearly sceptical as he dragged the word out. "What's the occasion, then?"

"Nothing. Chocolate helps fight off the effects dementors have on you. And it's _just_ chocolate for some reason. Specifically milk chocolate. Other sugary things or milk products don't work."

Harry hummed, examining the box again. "Alright, thanks. But don't you think Lady Bones or whoever would give us some after we're done?"

"Probably, but those aren't for you."

"They're not poisoned, are they?" Harry asked. "Even if they won't do any lasting damage…"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, of course they're not poisoned, but they _are_ laced with something" – she hesitated to say the next word, knowing exactly what response she would get – "illegal."

"Oh, Jailbird," Harry said, just as Hermione had expected. "This won't get me arrested, you know. I'll just tell them you gave it to me." Smirking, he added, "Plus it's too early to seize power."

"Prat!" Hermione said, smacking Harry's arm a little harder than normal. "Just don't do anything suspicious, and we won't get caught. Daphne's note said it'd fool a–"

"You got this from Greengrass?" Harry interrupted. "Are you _trying_ to get us thrown in jail?"

"Harry," Hermione said, trying to be patient. Too many Slytherins were too unpleasant, to put it nicely, for it to be fair to call him out on his bias. She actually found herself agreeing with Daphne these days, putting the blame for the prejudice on Ron and Malfoy. Of course, there was the whole 'terrified of turning into a dark lord' thing, too, but she considered that as having more of a very compelling sustaining effect rather than being a cause, since it was a more recent development in Harry's psyche.

"If you have no other reason to trust her," Hermione said, "trust that the Greengrasses want to keep doing business. If she sets up one of her enemies to fall through her family's business, which we're not, everyone else will be wondering if they're to be next, which is bad for customer loyalty. Nothing hurts the rich quite like a lighter pocket. All present company excluded, of course." That last comment got a chuckle out of Harry.

"Alright, fine. So what's in it?"

"Veritaserum, or if you're not familiar with the name, truth serum, colloquially known as legilimency in a bottle."

Harry looked like he wanted to say a lot of things. A grateful smile turned into a thoughtful frown. His hands fiddled with the box, turning it about. His brows narrowed, but that soon passed. Eventually, he settled on, "Thank you."

After playing with the box of chocolates for a few seconds longer, Harry asked, "How much do I owe you?" After Hermione gave him a disapproving look, he amended his question to, "How much more am I going to spend on your birthday present?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but answered anyway. "Remember how I said Daphne wants us to save the world?"

"That's…kind of a steep price."

"Well," Hermione said, trying to be as offhandedly casual as possible, "it was either that or a thousand pounds."

"Ah. I see we got the better end of the deal." Harry and Hermione exchanged smirks before breaking down into giggles.

Recovering, Harry said, "We should show up with more chocolate. We can honestly say we don't _know_ if it will be provided. We should have at least three brands: this one, your favourite, and…chocolate frogs for me, I suppose. No, those are enchanted; they'll draw attention. Something else, then. At any rate, we'll likely draw less attention that way. And it wouldn't hurt to munch on them the whole time."

"Hmm, how very Slytherin."

Clearly irritated, Harry asked, "Are you going to do that every time I have a good idea?"

Hermione ruffled Harry's hair with a hand, grinning all the while. "It's called desensitisation therapy. I'll stop when you stop cringing." Laughing at the glare he sent her way, she added, "Although maybe I should be feeding you a piece of chocolate every time to associate a good feeling with it."

"I'm not a dog," Harry protested.

Feigning surprise, Hermione gasped. Her hands shot to her cheeks. "You're not! But you were a stray I brought home and adopted. You looked so mangy and lost. We've even scheduled an appointment with the vet to get your shots. And if you're staying here, Dad will probably want you nut–"

"Rictusempra."

Hermione got as far as drawing her wand before the giggles started. Worse, Harry added a second and third casting of that blasted tickling charm. She clutched her side as she started wheezing, and her cheeks felt like they were on fire from laughing too hard. Actually countering the spells was a thought lost to the past as she collapsed onto her knees, and soon after, her side.

When the time came, Hermione swore that the very first spell she would learn to cast silently would be finite incantatem.

A knock came at the open door to the study drawing Harry's attention. Hermione's followed as soon as he took mercy on her. A moment later, Emma wandered in.

"I hate to break up all the fun," Emma said, "but we should leave soon if you two want to get to Gringotts before lunch. We wouldn't want to show off your completely legal wands to the aurors, now would we? They might get jealous."

Blushing too much to get a response out, Hermione let Harry answer for them both while she took over turning off the computer.

"We'll be down in a minute." Once Emma left, Harry said, "The coast is clear. You can stop blushing now."

"That's not how it works," Hermione muttered. Changing the topic, she asked, "So besides the mind-numbing boredom, what did you think of the computer?"

"Hmm… About what I expected. I think I'd have to play with it a lot more to really get much out of it, but I do appreciate how non-magical tech is catching up."

As much as she hated to admit it, Hermione agreed. "The muggle world does feel a bit behind technologically. But in some areas it's way ahead. A computer can do thousands of arithmancy spells in an instant. Well, not spells, but you know what I mean. Floppy disks are a bit unwieldy, but CDs are very compact. I could probably put all of Hogwarts's library on a small stack of them."

Harry shrugged. "I don't have the first clue about computers, so I'll take your word for it. It does sound convenient to digitise our books, though."

"Well," Hermione said, gnawing at her lip. "I don't really know how to go about doing that."

Harry just shrugged again. "We could always stop by a bookstore on the way back and get a textbook or something."

As she was quickly growing used to, a strange sort of triumphant pride swelled within Hermione's chest when Harry suggested looking something up instead of simply shrugging and saying 'I don't know'. If this was what it felt like to be a teacher watching curiosity take root in a student, she would have to seriously reconsider her career options. Politics still seemed unavoidable in the near future, but maybe someday.

"I'll let Mum know, then. She can direct us to where we'd need to go. But speaking of, we should go."

With that, Harry got up from his chair, and he and Hermione made their way downstairs. On the way out, Hermione remembered to grab the book of maps, wards, and miscellaneous notes Harry had been given in the off chance they had the time and the inclination to deal with it today.

* * *

The characteristic rap-rap-a-rap knock of her father came at the door to the family potions lab.

"Bubblehead charm!" Daphne called out. Once she confirmed who was behind the door a few seconds later, she said, "Hello, Dad," before returning to dicing one of the more noxious ingredients involved in an ageing potion. Her hands were chafed from wearing dragonhide gloves so often this past week, but better that than melted. Rashes were easy to fix.

"What? No hug?" Edmund Greengrass was a tall man whose short hair was closer to white than the very light blonde that the rest of the family possessed. Like Daphne, he had foregone robes in the potions room in favour of something more muggle with sleeves that stayed above the elbow, although unlike herself, he'd most likely simply transfigured his robes.

"A little busy here." To punctuate her point, Daphne set her knife down and rushed over to an entirely different project on another table, where a separate cauldron of polyjuice needed immediate attention. "How was your trip to Egypt?"

Edmund let out a groan. "Let's not talk about that. It suffices to say that I successfully obtained a new supplier for desert plants."

"After only four weeks." Daphne was unable to help the teasing tone that creeped into her voice.

"Anyway," Edmund said, rather inelegantly changing the topic, "your mother tells me you've been brewing ageing potions and polyjuice. Should I be worried about something as a parent?"

Daphne refused to dignify that with a blush, but she did nearly drop her stirring stick. "No," she said flatly. "I shouldn't think so."

Humming, Edmund glanced over the numerous tables nearby, each of which had at least one cauldron simmering. "Is that a cauldron filled with pepperup I spy bubbling over there?"

Daphne followed her father's gaze. She nodded.

"And from the blue colouring, I take it that there is a restorative draught. Mandrake based?"

"No, Dad. It's Dagworth-Granger's much cheaper and simpler variant."

"Ah. Not as effective, but certainly much less of a hassle." Edmund paused to look from cauldron to cauldron. His gaze next shifted to the shelves of recently bottled potions lining the wall on the far side of the lab. "And are those–"

Daphne sighed. "I'm sure they are, Dad. Would you please stop teasing me while I'm working?"

"Hmm, very well. I take it that since you're brewing these yourself, you don't want anyone outside the family to know you have a use for a highly suspect combination of potions? Particularly so in such large quantities."

"For the greater part, yes."

That was the honest answer. But as much as brewing felt like a chore, Daphne could admit to herself that she held another really very petty reason. Potions was the one and only class she managed to outperform Hermione Granger in on occasion, and she would be dead and burnt to ashes before she let that achievement slip out of her grasp. If Hermione could brew polyjuice, then so could she.

"I see. Then is this something that I should be concerned about as your head of house?"

Although her hands kept working, Daphne looked up at her father, judging his expression. His piercing grey eyes focused on hers. His brow was set. But his lips betrayed a faint hint of pride. He was willing, then, she concluded, to at least hear out her intentions.

"Undoubtedly. I've picked my side." _Most likely._

The seconds passed to the sound of bubbles, pops, and the soft roar of boiling cauldrons. Daphne straightened her already good posture under her father's gaze. She felt the force of his scrutiny fall upon her, the weight of it threatening to send nervous shivers through her. She remained unmoved; she refused to be found wanting.

"This isn't a conversation to be had in the lab, is it?"

Daphne shook her head. "I can leave everything alone in fifty-two minutes for the following three hours."

"Meet me in the library when you're ready."

"I will." When Edmund was halfway out the door, the tension vanished in an instant. Daphne then remembered something important. "Oh! And welcome back, Dad."

* * *

After a long drive to London, a visit to Gringotts, and a detour to buy more chocolate, Emma, Harry, and Hermione were all gathered outside the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Each was dressed in their new casual robes so as not to draw attention within. A weaker version of the muggle-repelling charm, they had discovered, came standard issue on all upscale clothes made in Diagon Alley, so only the occasional squib had given them strange looks while moving about London.

"Um, Hermione, are you sure we have the right place?"

Hermione looked back and forth between Harry, her mum, and the very visible phone box on a busy public street in the middle of London. A car went by at least once every second, and there was a fair amount of foot traffic on the pavement, often even not one foot from the box itself. It was all nearly as absurd as putting a magical portal in the middle of King's Cross.

"There's probably a muggle-repelling charm," Hermione hesitantly offered. "Or…maybe an area of effect confundus to deal with squibs not in the know? Somehow?" _That would explain a lot, actually, if British magicals were subjected to a confundus on a daily basis._

"Well, it won't be our fault if the ministry hasn't taken proper precautions on its own building," Emma said. Without further argument, she opened the door to the phone box doubling as the public visitors' entrance to the Ministry of Magic and stepped inside.

Shrugging to Harry, Hermione followed her mum in and closed the door once Harry had squeezed inside with them both. It was a tight fit, but better that than risk getting separated by making two trips.

"Wow, a rotary phone. That takes me back," Emma said as she pulled the handset off and passed it down to Hermione. It was a distressingly real possibility the other end would hang up on a squib. Chuckling, she asked, "Sweetie, have you ever seen one of these?"

"Yes, Mum," Hermione replied. "Nana Leslie still has one in her kitchen."

"Ah, of course. She's been asking us to visit her, you know. Maybe we'll ride the Knight Bus there this summer and visit your dad's mum and dad over the winter hols." After mumbling, "Dial magic for unsecure password," to herself, Emma then added, "You'd be welcome to come with to keep Hermione entertained, Harry. She doesn't like playing bridge with us because she always loses."

Hermione's protesting, "Mum!" was cut off when she heard a bland, almost monotone, female voice come from the telephone. She put a hand over her unused ear, unfortunately leaving her mum to her further corrupt Harry while she listened.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your names and purpose of visit."

"Ah, Hermione and Emma Granger and Harry Potter. We're here to see Lady Bones of the DMLE."

There was a pause before the voice said, "Please declare any magical artifacts in your possession."

"Two wands and two mokeskin pouches containing various mundane items and a Gringotts vault key." That Harry also had his cloak need not be mentioned, and the less said about their chocolate, the better. "Oh, and our robes. And first aid kits." And probably a few dozen other odds and ends, but really, enough was enough.

Again, there was a pause before a clattering sound came from the coin return. The voice then said, "Please take your identifications from the receptacle. Enjoy your visit to the Ministry of Magic."

Before Hermione could say anything or even pass the mouthpiece back to her mum, the phone box lurched downward, drawing a startled squeak from her. For once, however, the magical world provided a nice, slow, _smooth_ ride as transportation. Less than a minute later, the phone box came to a halt, and the three of them took their first steps into the ministry, but not before Hermione remembered at the last second to retrieve whatever constituted identifications from the coin return.

Looking around, Hermione found that they were in a long tunnel of fireplaces that almost appeared to extend in one direction forever. A flash of green light could be seen on occasion from the odd fireplace, which Hermione assumed meant each and every one was a floo connection. She doubted they ever had enough traffic to justify hundreds, if not thousands, of them, but then material and spatial resources were of a much lesser concern in the magical world, so she let the matter go.

In the other direction stood a fountain made of gold standing out starkly against the black brick that comprised the rest of the building. It depicted an idyllic scene of a beautiful witch, an ancient and wizened wizard, an unusually small centaur, a smiling goblin – who would believe that? – and a giddy looking house elf gathered together as if they were all equals, or at least as if they all somewhat liked each other. Below was an inscription naming it as the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

That was, of course, about as far from the truth as it was possible to be, never mind that it completely left out the vast majority of sapient beings. Really, reading into things, the witch and wizard in the statue towered over the others, who had to look up to them. The proportions were all wrong, too, especially the centaur, who was at most half the size of a real one. Hermione had no idea where to start listing all the horrible, offencive ways she could interpret the fountain.

Setting that aside for now, which was perhaps for the best, Hermione handed out the badges that would identify them as visitors. Each had their name on it and the purpose of their visit in a manner of speaking.

"Guest celebrity?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at his own badge. "What did you say to get this, Hermione?"

Hermione, frowning at her own badge but begrudgingly putting it on, said, "I just told them we were visiting Lady Bones. I don't know how they got 'guest celebrity' out of that, much less 'complainer' or–" Hermione frowned even more as she glanced at her mum's identification. "–'distraction'."

"They're certainly not very welcoming," Emma said, "but I can't say I expected otherwise." Sighing, she continued, "Anyway, I think I see the elevator past those…office windows, are they?"

Hermione glanced up away from the crowd to the upper levels of the grand hallway they were in. Rows upon rows of windows lined the walls all the way up to the ceiling, many of which had a light on and had a ministry official visible within. It seemed like a fair guess to call them offices. And indeed, further on past both them and the fountain in the atrium, a large crowd milled about in front of a series of lifts. Surprisingly, however, the people had not gathered merely to wait for a ride.

Atop a soap box – and that just _had_ to have been transfigured on purpose – stood an average-sized man with short, red hair and rather drab robes. At his neck, Hermione could see the polo neck of a very muggle shirt poking out from beneath his robe. She hung back momentarily as Emma and Harry called for a lift to listen in.

"…the purebloods are right. We do not belong here. We are not welcome here. Yet we are given no choice. We _must_ live here. We are forced to abide by laws and customs we have no say in inside a society that has only pretend tolerance for our own ways."

Hermione tapped the arm of a another witch listening. Once she had the woman's attention, she asked, "Who is that?"

"Lord Smith."

"'Lord'?" Hermione glanced back at the man who sounded very much like a disgruntled muggleborn.

The witch snorted in amusement. "Some inbred swine discovered the bastard son of Hepzibah Smith in the muggle world and thought he would be easy to control. Turns out mistaken squibs don't like being abandoned. He's running against Fudge for minister."

A small smile grew on Hermione's face. _Maybe I won't have to fix everything myself after all._

"Hermione!"

Hearing her name, Hermione found Harry and Emma holding open a lift for her. She hurried through the crowd and hopped on board with them. A short ride later, and the three got their first look at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Unlike the glamour and ostentatiousness of the atrium, the halls were straight with a low ceiling, posted signs gave directions at every intersection, people moved about orderly and efficiently, and from first impressions, no space went to waste. It was almost as if someone had _designed_ this department instead of cobbling it together on whim and fancy the way most magical buildings were.

Emma, being tall enough to see through the crowd, took off and said, "Department Head's Office this way." Hermione followed after her immediately, pulling Harry along behind her.

The last leg of the journey passed by quickly as they followed the flow of traffic. They shortly found themselves waiting just outside Lady Bones's office. The secretary predictably both fawned over Harry and drew the kind of attention to him that they _had_ managed to avoid until now. When they recognised the approaching sound of Lady Bones's voice, the relief was palpable on Harry's face.

"I don't care what the minister says, Dawlish. I don't take orders from his insane undersecretary, and her complaints aren't even legal to act on, let alone worth the department's time. And _do_ quote me on that." Hermione noticed Lady Bones briefly make eye contact with Harry. "Stop wasting my time with this, or I'll transfer you to Azkaban."

The far more normal looking of the two wizards walking with Lady Bones paled considerably. He quickly made his excuses and fled the scene just as her group converged on Hermione's. She was suitably unimpressed by the crowd she found.

"Attention!" Lady Bones barked. Every head nearby spun toward her. "Stop wasting time and get back to work!"

Despite an excessive amount of grumbling, the crowd swamping Harry dispersed.

"My apologies," Lady Bones said, eyeing the visitor's badges, "for both that display of unprofessionalism my department has shown you and for your identifications. I'll be exchanging words with our internal security office."

Before Hermione, Harry, or Emma could get a word in edgewise, Lady Bones turned to her secretary. "Clarissa, do you have the Black forms ready?"

The secretary – Clarissa, apparently – scrambled back behind her desk to the tune of a, "Yes, Ma'am," before rummaging through a cabinet. She eventually produced a small stack of parchment and handed it over to Lady Bones, who skimmed through them before tapping them with her wand. Immediately after, she handed the pile over to the other man who had shown up with her, and though his one good eye looked toward the parchment, Hermione _knew_ that his false eye was still watching her – and Harry, and her mum, and everything everywhere.

Now done with administrative work, it seemed, Lady Bones turned her attention back to Hermione and Harry. "Miss Granger, Mr Potter, and I presume Mrs Granger?"

"Dr Granger, if we're being formal."

Nodding, Lady Bones said, "Dr Granger, then. This is Auror Alastor Moody. He'll be escorting you to Azkaban today. Alastor… I guess I can only threaten you with forcing your retirement through a few weeks sooner. Please try not to scar them anyway."

Auror Moody scoffed. From that alone, Hermione was sure he considered this a chore, and the way he looked down at them only reinforced that impression. "If the kids can't last a day with me, they shouldn't be going to Azkaban to begin with."

"Just be nice." Auror Moody looked no less pleased by that, but Lady Bones ignored him. "If you'll excuse me, I need to be going. Thank you for being punctual."

Emma had a dangerous grin on her face as she said, "Punctuality is the politeness of kings. Or queens in this case."

Grinning back, Lady Bones stopped and held out a hand to shake to the disapproving look of her secretary. Hermione had to wonder if she actually understood the muggle reference. "Well met, Dr Granger. Miss Granger, Susan speaks very highly of you. Please continue to be kind to her."

"Of course."

"Good day, Mr Potter."

"Actually," Harry said, drawing Lady Bones's attention back to him as she turned to leave, "there is one other thing. I don't know what the proper channels are for this, but I've recently learnt that there may be a prophecy concerning me. How would I go about verifying that, if it's even possible?"

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter, but the unspeakables normally don't allow anyone into the Hall of Prophecy. I don't know that any of them would be sympathetic to your plight."

Hermione just barely caught Harry clicking his tongue. Lady Bones likely heard it too, as she added, "I'd recommend that you _not_ set off on an adventure sneaking through the Department of Mysteries. The unspeakables tend not to be forgiving, and their department is both well-warded and extremely dangerous. I doubt you could ever make it to the prophecy room without someone showing you the way."

Pulling Harry aside, Hermione held a quick and quiet conversation with him. She knew him too well not to see through the fake feeling of acceptance he was trying to project.

"Don't even think about it, Harry."

After only a moment's pause, Harry asked, "Am I really that obvious?"

"Just to me. Does it really matter, though? Quirrelmort possibly knowing the prophecy that might not even exist didn't help him."

"That's no reason not to find out what it says."

"Risk versus reward. We can guess what it says in general terms. And I've never heard that prophecies are ever particularly…lucid."

That drew a real smile to Harry's face. "As bad as muggle prophecies in stories?"

"Pretty much."

"Fine. I suppose since I'm alive, it's not _that_ important, if it does, in fact, exist."

"Not going to do anything foolish, then?"

"Yes, yes. I promise I won't."

With that promise extracted, Hermione and Harry said their goodbyes, and Lady Bones soon vanished back into the crowd, leaving the three of them with Auror Moody.

"A prophecy, Harry?" Emma asked.

Harry shrugged, and Hermione said, "We don't actually know if there is one."

Auror Moody made a gruff sound to get their attention that Hermione suspected was supposed to be him clearing his throat. "Don't bother, Lad. I personally used your hand to smash that prophecy sphere and put a fake in its place."

"So there _is_ a prophecy!" Hermione said at the same time that Harry said, "Or that's what you want us to think in case someone reads our minds."

For an instant, Auror Moody's false eye stopped moving and fixed solely on Harry. If anything, he looked _interested_.

"Come on, then. We don't have all day." Auror Moody started walking back the way he originally came from without another word. Hermione and Harry rushed after him with Emma following just behind them.

"Um, Auror Moody, Sir?" Hermione said hesitantly. It was clear enough that if he knew the prophecy, he had no intention of sharing, at least not right now, but there was little harm in asking, anyway. "Would you tell us the prophecy?"

Without hesitation, Auror Moody simply said, "Don't know it, Lass." And that was fair enough, Hermione supposed.

As they walked, it was only now that Hermione managed to get a good look at their guide. He was perhaps slightly taller than average, covered in more scars than she could count without wincing, and despite his age and wooden leg, he managed to move with a natural gait. He did, however, carry himself like he was expecting an ambush from behind not just every corner but every person and maybe even every particle of oxygen.

"So this is Tonks's mentor?" Harry whispered.

"So it seems," Hermione whispered back. "What do you think are the odds he leads us on a long walk for an hour to check for polyjuice?"

"That would be a little obvious, wouldn't it? We'll probably be with him for over an hour, anyway."

"True, but by the time we get to Azkaban, it could be too late if we wanted to pull something."

Harry shrugged. "He's just our escort. The real security is already at Azkaban or on the way, presumably."

"True. We probably won't be taken out of a secure area, too."

And indeed, Auror Moody led them through the DMLE to a heavily fortified gate, where he handed over one of the sheets of parchment Lady Bones had given him to one of the guards. The two exchanged a few words with each other that Hermione was completely unable to hear. Most likely there were privacy wards in place to ensure no one overheard passwords and such.

Once they were done talking, the guards cast a ludicrous number of spells. Hermione recognised the one to detect animagi but no others. It all culminated with the gate opening minutes later. Walking through it behind Auror Moody and down a short hallway, Hermione found herself in a small room with nothing in it except for a strange, triangular prism made of, perhaps, wood. It stood on three short legs, and looking closer, it possessed a handle and what appeared to be a door.

Hermione jumped when Auror Moody spoke from beside her. "Vanishing cabinet. They fell out of popular use ten years ago. They're a very limited type floo connection but much harder to interfere with. Besides phoenix fire, this is the only convenient way into Azkaban."

Ignoring Harry's groan at the mention of floo travel, Hermione asked a question she suspected she'd not like the answer to. "Is it also a convenient way out?"

"No. I hope you know how to fly a broomstick."

Hermione joined Harry in groaning.

"Um, squib here," Emma said, raising her hand and waving it a bit. "Will a broomstick work for me?"

Auror Moody grunted and simply said, "Stay here. We're not taking someone who's never ridden a broom before." Hermione could tell from his expression that as far as he was concerned, that was the end of the conversation.

Emma frowned at Auror Moody, but she restrained herself to just that. "Right then. Hermione, Harry, I'll wait for you in the Leaky Cauldron. Floo there from the atrium after you're done here, alright?"

"Yes, Mum."

After Harry agreed and Emma had departed, Auror Moody said, "Hop into the cabinet. Close the door, then open it again."

 _Straightforward,_ Hermione commented to herself. Harry led the way and hopped in first with Hermione right behind him. She pulled the door closed. Nothing happened.

Hesitantly, Hermione asked, "Did it work?" She spoke loud enough to hopefully be heard outside the cabinet.

"Open the door," came a completely unfamiliar voice.

Harry and Hermione turned to each other. The former shrugged and shoved the door open. Immediately, the two of them were assaulted with a frigid chill in the air and understood why Lady Bones had told them to dress warm.

"Oh my gosh!" Hermione said. "Jumper." At her command, her mokeskin pouch spit out a green, thick wool jumper. It looked rather bland and tasteless as well as rather silly over her robes, but it was there for emergencies, not to make a fashion statement. Next to her, Harry mirrored her actions, but his jumper was the blue one with an H on it that Mrs Weasley had knit for him.

Taking her first steps into a place she had hoped never to visit, Hermione felt a cold, creeping feeling in her mind. It was weak and barely noticeable, but it was there. Next to her, Harry had a tight expression on his face. Whether it was from the effects of the dementors or from being so close to meeting Sirius Black was anyone's guess.

"Hurry up and move," the same voice from earlier said at the same time that the cabinet door behind Hermione slammed shut. Now that she was paying attention, she noticed that the voice belonged to a very disgruntled looking witch standing not too far away from her. The witch had her wand out and a silver falcon resting on her shoulder.

 _A corporeal patronus!_ Hermione walked quickly closer to the witch to get a better look, ignoring the five other aurors in the room watching her. _It looks almost like it's made of stardust._

"You must be Hermione Granger," the witch said, breaking Hermione out of her fascination with the patronus. "The chief warned me about you. While you're here, look, don't touch, and nothing is interesting enough to wander off. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" Hermione said, almost squeaked. Lady Bones had _warned_ them about her? _Really_? Coming up behind her, she could hear Harry snickering, and so she sent him the glare he so rightly deserved. Still, snickering at her was better than brooding over the coming meeting.

The sound of the cabinet door opening and slamming shut again came, and soon after, Auror Moody said, "Jones, do you have Black up and ready?" As he said that, he handed over the remaining parchments Lady Bones had given him.

"Room three," the witch, presumably Jones, said. She flipped through the parchments in her hands before throwing them onto a table nearby. Now that Hermione stopped to figure out where she was, it looked a lot like a lounge. There were even three aurors in the midst of a card game nearby. "Are you both ready?"

Hermione turned to Harry, who gave a tight nod, and they were off. She grabbed hold of his hand with both of hers as he became progressively more visibly angry with every step they took. She coaxed it out of a fist and slipped her fingers between his to keep it that way. It seemed, deep down, he had taken her advice about not hoping for too much, but the opposite extreme was little better and might cost them both much, much more.

"Last chance to turn back, Harry," Hermione whispered to him. She assumed the glare he sent back to her meant no. "Deep breaths, Harry. You can scream, and punch pillows, and tear phone books in half later, but right now you're on a mission. Do what you do best."

Harry nodded, which was better than nothing. He asked his mokeskin pouch for a chocolate bar and scoffed it down in a second. He seemed a bit better after that, which was perhaps even more worrying. If the dementors could reach him enough through a patronus two metres from him this far away for chocolate to help already, Hermione dreaded to think how he would feel by the time they left or, much worse, if he actually came into contact with a dementor.

At last, the group arrived outside a door numbered three. Auror Jones stopped there and turned to address Harry and Hermione. "I don't know what you two are hoping for, but Black barely ever speaks these days. If you can't get anything out of him, well, you're out of luck."

"Have you stuffed him full of chocolate yet?" Harry asked. Auror Jones had barely said, "Some," before Harry said, "Box of chocolate." Daphne's veritaserum-laced chocolate flew into his hands, and he started peeling away the outer wrapping on the box. "I hope you don't mind if I shove this down his throat."

Auror Jones hesitated for a moment, but Hermione noticed her eyes drifting up toward Harry's scar. As much as he hated it, sometimes his fame was useful. Hermione held her breath as Auror Jones cast several spells – presumably detections spells – on the chocolate box. When the single word, "Alright," came, Hermione had to force herself not to sigh in relief, and she only just barely succeeded. Harry, however, had a face of stone; if he was relieved, he sure hid it well.

The door opened slowly, ominously, squeaking the whole time. Hermione wondered if all that was purposefully spelt onto the hinges. Auror Jones took up guard in the hall while Auror Moody, Harry, and Hermione all stepped inside. They were staring in the face of a second door. Presumably, while Auror Moody worked on unlocking the next one, Auror Jones was locking the previous.

And then Auror Moody suddenly turned and did the strangest thing. He cast a series of spells back at the door they'd come through. Hermione recognised a couple of them as privacy spells. His false eye spun erratically about before stopping on Harry. Then a second later, it moved in a blink to land squarely on Hermione.

"Which one of you had the idea to bring your own chocolate?"

Before Harry could do anything noble and stupid, Hermione weakly raised her hand. That got Auror Moody to _really_ look at her this time, although his false eye never lingered for long before whirling about erratically again in its socket.

"Constant vigilance, eh, Lass?"

"Y-yes?" Hermione supposed she _had_ gone out her way to avoid tempting fate today, if that counted.

"Do either of you know the patronus charm?"

"Harry can make a shield."

Auror Moody's false eye spun back to Harry, but he kept his attention on Hermione, presumably. "Homemade or bought?"

It took her a few seconds before Hermione could figure out what Auror Moody was talking about. "T-the chocolate?" _Curse my stutter!_

"We stopped by Diagon Alley and Gringotts this morning," Harry said coldly, glaring at Auror Moody.

"Nice non-answer, Lad." Without word or wand, the half-opened box of veritaserum chocolate leapt out of Harry's grasp into Auror Moody's hand. "Who did you buy this from, then?"

Not seeing anyway around it, Hermione shook her head at Harry to tell him not to do anything drastic. "Daphne Greengrass," she said while silently begging for this not to go any more wrong than it already had.

"Good choice, Lass. The Greengrasses are reputable off-the-books confectioners."

Hermione blinked. Then her eyes widened, and she noticed Harry looked just as surprised. Were they really going to get away with this? Cautious, she tried, "Um… Constant vigilance?"

Auror Moody, for the first time since Lady Bones had introduced him, made something approaching a smile. He tossed the chocolate back to Harry and said, "Good lass. For the record, you got unlucky getting me as an escort; I noticed even before we met. Don't blame the Greengrasses."

 _Before we met?_ Hermione eyed Auror Moody's false eye with a newfound respect and curiosity. It was obviously magical, but apparently it was _very_ magical. It might even be a major magical artifact like Harry's cloak. She really, _really_ wanted to know more about it. _Better not push my luck, though._ "Thank you, Sir. I don't know what to say."

Hermione nudged Harry, who had been only a little distracted from Sirius Black, with her elbow. He grunted, then uttered a terse, "Thank you."

"No problem. Now are you two ready?" Auror Moody's eye spun to face behind him toward the door. "Black is chained down just on the other side." Despite saying that, he refused to lower his guard or put away his wand.

After taking a deep breath, Harry said, "I'm ready."

* * *

Daphne collapsed onto the chair across from her father, exhausted. All of her potions were off on their own and could be left without a babysitter for now. Her little sister was an entirely different matter, however.

Smothering a laugh, Edmund pointed just above his right ear. "You've got a large blotch of something black–"

"I'm aware, Father," a thoroughly unamused Daphne interrupted. "Astoria needs to be kept on a leash."

"Ah, the luxuries of not being an heir. Wouldn't it be nice if we two could've been a wild child at that age?"

Daphne grumbled about Astoria's lack of civilised manners as Edmund folded up a copy of _The Quibbler_ , much to her dad's amusement. Once it was tossed onto a nearby pile with _The Daily Prophet_ and half a dozen other newspapers and magazines, he cast a few spells to clean her off, and the two then settled down for business.

"So, Daphne, you say you've chosen a side." After she nodded, Edmund continued, "Why don't you first explain the political climate as you see it, then, before we address what's changed for you?"

After spending much of the last several weeks thinking about just that – and giving a good rant on the subject to Hermione – Daphne launched into explaining her perspective. "As I see it, there are four primary factions one can identify with at present: You-Know-Who and the traditionalists, Dumbledore and the idealists, the rabble who like things as they are, and the sane people who are trying to keep our country from imploding."

Edmund let out a snort. "I take it you consider us members of that last category?"

"Of course," Daphne said, folding her arms. "The problem is our circle of friends and allies is so small. The rabble are idiots like our dearly beloved Minister for Magic. We can count on them to do nothing of interest their whole lives."

"Daphne." The mere tone of Edmund's voice made her wince, and she dropped the sarcasm. There would be time enough for snide remarks some other time.

"More importantly," Daphne continued, "the intelligent members of that group are either wilfully ignorant of what's been going on around them or don't care. I confirmed that You-Know-Who is _not_ dead. I'm not sure what exactly his current goals are, but he's definitely alive in some manner."

"Who is your source?"

Daphne chuckled at the memory. "Hermione. She's so easy to rile. She's a bad liar to begin with and hopeless in a temper."

"Hermione?" With a quirked eyebrow and a teasing smirk, Edmund asked, "As in 'that infuriating encyclopedia' Hermione Granger?"

"I, uh – well, you see, it's just…" Daphne let out a quiet sigh and allowed her shoulders to slump slightly. "At some point she started referring to me by my given name, and… I don't know. I think she sees academic rivalry as a type of friendship." She shrugged.

"Well, I certainly won't discourage you from adding a talented and well-informed witch to your circle of friends."

Daphne blew a strand of blackened, greasy hair out of her face with a huff.

"It's just a suggestion, Daphne. Losing Lily Potter to Dumbledore was a disaster I'd not like to see made again."

As much as she found the thought distasteful, Daphne knew she would have to try harder to be civil with Hermione. If she could get over her own admittedly unfair and somewhat petty issues with the girl, they might even, dare she say it, become friends one day.

"I could, however," Edmund continued, "see the benefit of keeping your association quiet with You-Know-Who semi-active once more, although I doubt it'd be worth the effort. Which, come to think of it, does explain Lord Malfoy's unusually…direct behaviour of late, if he were acting on orders from You-Know-Who. That madman was never particularly subtle in anything he was personally involved in. Are you aware that Lord Malfoy outright threatened the families of the entire Hogwarts Board of Governors?"

"That" – Daphne's brows furrowed – "does seem out of character." Draco Malfoy was a fool and a self-entitled git, but his father was an entirely different creature. There was a reason why Lord Malfoy, who was _obviously_ a Death Eater, had escaped Azkaban, and it had little to do with his coffers. Plenty of other wealthy Death Eaters had been tried and sentenced.

"Still, it's not a great surprise that You-Know-Who survived. Little about the Attack on Godric's Hollow adds up, especially the lack of a body when both the elder Potters' were found. But now we can say the game is afoot. Now, you were saying before…"

It took a few moments of reflection, but Daphne picked up where she'd left off before being sidetracked. "Ah, yes, well, we're not going to be able to gain any support from those aligned with or supportive of You-Know-Who. There might be a few insincere people we could sway if we made our side look more lucrative, but the simple fact of the matter is that most of our nation's wealth is concentrated among the traditionalists."

"That's not entirely true," Edmund said. To Daphne's raised eyebrow, he added, "Collectively, the muggleborn have at least a comparable amount of capital and property, but our strict banking regulations prevent them from bringing anywhere near its full weight to bear in the magical world."

"What? I don't… I don't understand."

Edmund called for a house elf to fetch a book for him. Less than a minute later, Daphne found herself with a thick book in her hands and instructions to skim through it over the summer. From the title, the logical guess would be that the book held a comprehensive history of the wars and treaties made between Magical Britain and its native goblins.

"To summarise a very long explanation," Edmund began, "in principle, Gringotts is by treaty granted a monopoly on banking and minting our currency. Officially, to prevent inflation and large-scale theft from the muggle world, the goblins follow a strict set of regulations to allow approximately a specific amount of total coin in our markets per capita. Once this became a global standard, it's since worked surprisingly well. Unofficially, an intended side effect of that is any one muggleborn can only exchange so many pounds, euros, dollars, yen, and such into galleons, thus limiting the amount of wealth they can directly bring with them into the magical world. For example, after you mentioned them last summer, I looked into the Granger family. They have approximately a quarter of our own net worth."

"Ah…" Daphne said, not really sure how to respond to that in her surprise. "Does that affect what I was going to say?"

"A bit, but not much. I merely wished to point out a common oversight to you." Left unsaid, although Daphne got the message loud and clear, was that someday that error could easily come back to haunt anyone who made enough of an enemy of the muggleborn for them to band together.

"Okay. Well, as I was saying, then, we really don't have the kind of financial power necessary to turn nominal traditionalists into allies. And then there's Dumbledore and his followers."

For one reason or another, Dumbledore had adopted a great deal of muggle culture, and his behaviour infected those who idolised him. While Daphne had no issue with the muggleborn acting as muggleborn did, as she had said to Hermione, she hated that her own culture was being very, very slowly eroded. Almost a fourth of Hogwarts now must celebrate Christmas, and only the muggleborn and the occasional half-blood actually knew what the holiday was even about.

By Merlin's saggy beard, even _the name_ of _their_ winter festivities had been subsumed by Christmas. The last person who had replied, "Do you mean our holiday or Christmas?" when Daphne had asked what they were doing for Yule had been sent to Madam Pomfrey to heal a broken nose and for an extended curse-breaking session. The detentions had been worth the catharsis.

Sighing, Daphne said, "Dumbledore and his devotees are nominal allies. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Just not a close or lasting friend. You-Know-Who is the worse and most immediate threat, but I wouldn't wish for Dumbledore or anyone like him to retain power once this is all over. _He_ acts slowly over decades – possibly not even intentionally, given his political history – but the years add up. He's such an icon, too, that swaying his followers is just as difficult as You-Know-Who's."

"Quite. Now, then." Edmund leaned forward with his hands folded together and captured Daphne's gaze. "What's changed that convinced you to side with either the old madman or the mad old man?"

"Nothing. If I _had_ to pick one, I'd pick…whichever one referred to You-Know-Who, simply because Dumbledore _won't win_ , and we both know how effective the ministry has proven."

Edmund said nothing. He merely raised an eyebrow, silently asking her to elaborate on her choice. There Daphne hesitated to gather her thoughts. She knew perfectly well that this was going to stretch the amount of trust her father had in her competence and reasoning ability. It was a real test of one's credibility when suggesting that the best course of action was aligning with and following a pair of thirteen-year-olds.

"I think that if we can keep them alive long enough to grow up and figure out what cause they're fighting for, we should side with Potter and" – Daphne grimaced – "Hermione."

Edmund straightened his posture, clearly surprised. "Well, I have to admit that's not what I expected. Didn't you tell me that Harry Potter is 'an average, shy wizard who just wants the world to leave him alone'?"

"Something like that. But I was recently reminded that not everyone is who they appear to be."

"Oh? A snake hiding amongst lions, then?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Daphne said. Despite being a parselmouth, the boy was as Gryffindor as Malfoy, although usually in a good way. "Based on what little I've been permitted to observe, he's very much the type to rush in without a plan. He played some important role my first year in a number of strange heroics with Hermione being his one constant companion. Then this last year he slew a basilisk twice his height and as long as a quidditch pitch with only _a sword_. Susan Bones was my source for that. She personally witnessed the basilisk at length."

"I'm very surprised he survived the encounter," Edmund commented.

Daphne scoffed. "Honestly, with just the injuries I've personally seen Potter survive, I wouldn't be surprised if he were immortal. Rumour even has it the basilisk actually bit him."

Edmund raised a sceptical eyebrow. "If true, then he's very lucky Dumbledore has a phoenix."

"True. All that said, however, Hermione provided me with a key piece of information I'd been missing: Potter hasn't been trying."

Both surprise and excitement snuck onto Edmund's face. "You mean to tell me he slew a legendary monster with what? His wits?"

Daphne chuckled. "That's exactly how I reacted."

"Ah. Like father, like daughter. How proud I am."

With a roll of her eyes, Daphne continued, "Apparently, Hermione has been allowed to see what Potter is properly capable of on occasion. Through some undisclosed means, she claims she's managed to bring _that_ boy to the surface. I did notice him behaving…differently, since. It's hard to put an exact word to it. Confident might be it. Less like he's waiting for something bad to happen to him, maybe."

Edmund frowned at that description and rose from his seat. "Walk with me," he said.

Confused, Daphne followed after him through their manor toward the library.

"Daphne, I need to ask you a few serious questions. You will not tell anyone that I have, especially not Astoria. Understood?"

Rather nervous and confused, Daphne nodded.

"How accurate do you think the inferences you've made are?"

"Very." _I wouldn't have acted on them at all if I believed otherwise._

"Do you honestly believe Mr Potter should be doing better in school?"

That was a much more subjective question, but everything she'd seen and heard recently indicated that the answer was probably yes, and Daphne said as such.

Entering the library, Edmund pulled an old _Prophet_ from their archive that had a picture of Potter on the front page. His frown deepened. "I don't suppose he's very tall, is he?" he asked. The picture _The Prophet_ had lacked another person with Potter for comparison.

Daphne cocked her head to the side. "He's probably the second or third shortest person in our year."

"And how does he react to physical contact?"

"Fine, I guess." Not that Daphne had been paying much attention to such things. She'd never had much reason to take note of such things about anyone. _But on the other hand…_ "Although come to think of it, I don't think I've seen anyone other than Hermione and Madam Pomfrey touch him. Why?"

"It's nothing," Edmund said, returning the newspaper to its place. He then ushered the two of them from the library. "Just a magical tic I think he might have. Do try to be nice to him if you do befriend him, though. You wouldn't want to get caught up in it. It's very unpleasant for all involved."

Despite the grin Edmund said all that with, Daphne had the distinct feeling that something very important had just gone over her head. Even so, Potter's possible 'magical tic' was not why they were having this conversation, nor was it really all that interesting.

"Now, then," Edmund said, veering the topic back to where it'd come from as surely as he led them back to his study. "I understand your argument for Mr Potter. What's your reasoning for Miss Granger?"

Daphne breathed deeply to assuage the annoyance of having to praise the girl. "Hermione is alarmingly brilliant, upset with the status quo, motivated, she's the Boy-Who-Lived's best friend, and I have a large wager placed on her being the future Mrs Potter." Really, what more needed to be said?

"Forgive me for not staying up-to-date on teenage politics, but you've mentioned another boy before. The youngest male Weasley, I believe?"

"I don't want to talk about that arse," Daphne bit out. Ronald Weasley was thoroughly unpleasant company for any Slytherin. "There's no reason for him to exist."

Perhaps wisely deciding to drop that topic entirely, Edmund then asked, "Alright, now please explain to me why you're distinguishing the Potter–Granger side from Dumbledore and his allies."

"Simple. After Grindelwald's defeat up until 1970, it was Dumbledore's world. Even now, he's the chief warlock, the supreme mugwump, and the headmaster of Hogwarts, and he's refused the Minister for Magic position three times."

"Four, actually," Edmund said.

"Four, then. Dumbledore has effectively been King of Magical Britain all this time. Change has been very slow under him, and I wouldn't expect _that_ to change anytime soon. He's magical-raised and was born in the last century, so despite his predilections, he doesn't _truly_ understand why the muggle-raised are so disgruntled."

"And despite what he _has_ done, Miss Granger is still unhappy with the way things are," Edmund concluded. "I see. And Mr Potter?"

Daphne shrugged. "He _is_ a shy boy who wants the world to leave him alone. He doesn't have much respect for authority so far as I can tell, although he does have some sort of strange, friendly relationship with Dumbledore. But Hermione has him wrapped around her finger. If you pull her away, he will come with."

"Ah. So no chance of a marriage to either of them, then?"

It was bad manners, but Daphne scoffed and rolled her eyes, an act which only seemed to amuse her father. "Please. Even if I were so inclined, those two are besotted with each other. Emotionally, if not yet physically. Anyone who actually managed to come between them would be in for a _very_ uncomfortable marriage in any form it took, even if it was just for children, and there's no room for three."

"Point taken."

Arriving back at Edmund's study, he sat down behind his desk and left Daphne standing on the opposite side. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded together as he sunk into thought. Without conversation to keep her focused, Daphne fell into an awkward state of fidgeting as she waited for approval or rejection of her actions. Eventually, she worked up the nerve to just ask.

"So what do you think?"

"I'm not sure," Edmund slowly said. "I don't know either Miss Granger or Mr Potter myself." He paused, considering the matter for a few more seconds. "I do trust you to make good decisions, however. For now, do as you wish. Befriend them, offer what assistance you choose, and we'll see how those two grow over the coming year. Be sure to extend an invitation to them and Miss Granger's parents to our Yule celebrations, preferably before the Longbottoms do. I expect it will be an enjoyable new experience for all of them."

The smile that had been slowly creeping onto Daphne's face blossomed into a full grin. She walked around the desk between her and Edmund to give him a hug. Finally, at long, long last, it was time for the Greengrass heir to start playing the game. Oh, this was going to be fun!

Daphne released her father to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

"Make me proud, my little flower."

"Dad, _please_ stop calling me that."

Edmund had no pity and laughed at Daphne's embarrassment and made no promises. Instead he called for a house elf and asked for today's mail, nevermind that he already had today's _Prophet_ sitting on the table nearby. He rifled through the stack, eventually removing an unremarkable, beige envelope from it. He held it out to her.

"While we're on the subject, a particular snowy owl delivered this while you were in the lab. I haven't read it, of course, but I _am_ curious to hear what Mr Potter has to say, if it's nothing private. That, and I would like to know why exactly you gave Mr Potter and Miss Granger veritaserum."

As she opened the envelope and set to reading, Daphne said, "Those two were going to interrogate Sirius Black. Hermione wanted to make sure whatever answers they received were…genuine…"

"What's wrong?"

Daphne looked up at her father, then back down to the letter. The introduction was a short thank you note, but the rest of it required a second and third reading. Surely her eyes must have been playing tricks on her.

"Ah!" The letter burst into flame and burnt to a crisp in an instant, not even leaving behind ashes. Daphne looked at the palms of her hands, but they were both uninjured and room temperature. After the initial shock had worn off, a few thoughts took root in her head. One, she would give better than even odds on Hermione having found a way to cheat the ministry's underage magic laws – not that doing so was terribly difficult. Two, and more importantly, if that letter had been spelt to self-destruct, Potter's request had been genuine.

A smile slowly lit up Daphne's face. Oh, this was going to be fun, indeed. "Nothing is wrong, Dad. In fact, if we can pull this off, we may have just been handed the biggest coup in decades on a silver platter."

* * *

Eavesdropping was such a bad habit, but there was absolutely no way Susan would come out from behind the corner _now_. The sparks flew between her Aunt Amelia and Lord Malfoy, and if that alone were not intense enough, Lord Malfoy stood between her and her aunt. Her positioning was positively dreadful!

Although to be fair to herself, the route through the Ministry of Magic Susan had taken _was_ the only way for her to get to where she was supposed to meet her aunt for a late dinner.

"If it isn't our illustrious head of law enforcement." Everything about Lord Malfoy from his luxurious robes to his well-kept appearance screamed wealth and privilege – not something Susan was a stranger to herself – but _that voice_. There was some undertone to it which said that if he deigned to acknowledge your existence, you had perhaps five seconds on a good day to explain why he shouldn't simply kill you where you stood. Even the cane that he leaned on, for all that it was a work of art, radiated power; it was an instrument of death, not a crutch, just as the man himself was.

Amelia, in the extreme opposite, possessed a rough, mundane aura. She'd fought her way through a war and had come out the other end whole, and it showed in both her dress and how she held herself. Her guard was raised, and if a fight broke out, her snug but flexible and simple robes along with her distance would grant her all the opportunity she needed to deliver an uppercut to the jaw before Lord Malfoy could fire a spell – providing he used his wand and did not dodge, of course.

"Lord Malfoy." Rather surprisingly, Amelia had a polite – almost friendly, even – tone to her voice. She usually resorted to growling at the man, eternally frustrated with him as she was. Stranger still was the tiny upturning of her lips. Susan swore she had to be seeing things. She _was_ a fair distance away. That might be it. It had to be.

Lord Malfoy appeared to have taken note of the very same thing. "Any plans to murder my wife today?"

"Only if she tries first," Amelia replied. "And you? Any plans to murder children today?"

"Certainly not." It was the strangest thing how cordial those two were being with this rather singular greeting. "On the subject, however, I have been meaning to ask after Ginerva Weasley's health. She may have been found innocent, but as a parent, I would be uncomfortable with my son being around such a…damaged young witch."

"If you must know, she's been scheduled to see a healer in Egypt. Once she receives a clean bill of health, she'll be allowed to return to Hogwarts and will pose no danger to those students who are not first a danger to her."

"Then I wish her the best in her recovery." Despite everything, Lord Malfoy _sounded_ sincere. But even so, there was _no way_ he actually cared even the slightest bit. "Now who I wished to speak of with you is Rubeus Hagrid."

Amelia emitted a rather cautious, "Yes?"

"I should hope you are aware that after recent events, it is blindingly obvious he was not responsible for the death of Myrtle Warren in forty-three."

Susan cocked her head to the side and leaned out past the corner just a little further. Something was wrong with her ears.

"I am. A date has already been set for his retrial. The formal announcement will be sent out next week."

"Excellent. I shall take my leave of you, then. Good evening, Lady Bones."

Quickly and quietly, Susan ducked out of sight and hid herself in a nearby office, one which was fortunately empty. She waited there well over a minute, not being sure how long it would take for Lord Malfoy to be well and truly gone. The answer came to her in a rather unexpected manner.

"I highly suggest you leave espionage to my department."

Once Susan had gotten the initial guilty squeak out of the way, she had the decency to stare at her feet and mumble an apology. Amelia did not sound particularly upset, however.

"Come along, Susan," Amelia said. "I have reservations at a muggle restaurant near Diagon Alley on Shacklebolt's recommendation."

As they walked through the near empty halls of the ministry at this time of day, Susan continually stole glances at her aunt. Her curiosity burnt, and she most certainly had questions about the conversation she had just overheard. It was at times like this that she wished she could read her aunt the way Hermione and Harry could so clearly read each other. Did silence mean she was not supposed to ask and just forget everything? Maybe it meant she should wait until they were somewhere more private. Or possibly, Amelia was merely waiting to see if she would even ask at all.

In the end, as soon as they left the ministry and entered the muggle side of London, the questions emerged.

"Aunt Amelia? Why did Lord Malfoy ask about Mr Hagrid's trial? He wasn't trying to actually help, was he?"

"No," Amelia replied, a bitter tone briefly entering her voice. "Not that I would, but he's made it clear I can't ignore the issue without taking some major flak from our friends. Unfortunately, I have to send Mr Hagrid's case through the courts, and as high profile as it is, I'll be a judge for it along with the rest of the Wizengamot. I can't just give him a wand and say, 'Have fun,' as much as I'd like to."

"So he's going to try to interfere?"

Amelia shook her head. "He won't draw any more attention to himself over this fiasco. _He_ will either stay out of the way, or far more likely, pretend to be a champion of justice and 'help'."

"That's…good?" The reason why aside, at least Lord Malfoy would do something unambiguously good for once.

"In name only. He will play the part while his own friends cause problems for us. Mr Hagrid will eventually be declared innocent, because it _is_ blindingly obvious he isn't guilty, but a lot of my time is going to be wasted on something ultimately unimportant. Meanwhile, Malfoy gets to enjoy looking like a decent human being with little to no effort. It's much more in keeping with his style than the mess he caused at Hogwarts."

"Oh." Why was it that everything was always so much easier for the bad guys?

"However, you're right to be confused."

Susan looked up at her aunt.

"Remember that Fudge placed Mr Hagrid in Azkaban. Any attention to the trial will make the minister look bad, and Malfoy has the minister in his pocket. With elections next year fast approaching, Fudge can ill afford the negative attention."

Eyes wide in understanding, Susan said, "He's going to try to get one of his own elected?"

"Possibly," Amelia mumbled. "I'm no seer, but my inner eye is warning me."

Susan frowned but moved on; she had nothing to contribute herself. Besides, there was something more interesting that demanded to be asked. "Why did you seem…happy, I suppose, when he first appeared?"

A wide, almost evil grin broke out onto Amelia's face. "I'll tell you more when we're home, but it suffices to say that Mr Potter and Miss Granger have given me a wonderfully irritating gift."

 _Harry and Hermione? Weren't they going to visit Sirius Black in Azkaban today?_ "What sort of gift?"

"A sharp slap in Malfoy's face and the greatest gift of all: revenge."

 _Revenge?_ Whenever _that_ word popped up, it almost always referred to one of two things. "Against the Blacks or Lestrange in particular?"

"The second greatest gift, then," Amelia said, which meant this was about the House of Black as a whole, unfortunately, not Bellatrix Lestrange née Black. Susan had just as much of a bone to pick with the latter herself. That monster had personally reinvigorated the Bones–Black feud by eradicating every last Bones except herself and Aunt Amelia, and even that had been a close call.

"We severely crippled them long ago, but we never destroyed the Blacks," Amelia said. No one needed to point out that that had been a horrible, disastrous mistake – not from pity, of course, but from cooling tempers and lack of effort. "This time, though – oh, this time we are going to annihilate them and cause the name to die out forever. When we're through, no one will even be able to recognise what's left."

Amelia's somewhat mad smile proved infectious as they approached their destination. Good food and better news, tonight was a night for celebration.

* * *

 **A/N:** Still not dead, but depression sucks, and sometimes it hits harder than usual. As usual, however, thanks goes to my prereader, Owen Hinds.

Anyway, this chapter is pretty closely tied with the next chapter, after which the story will go into the summer proper. The holiday will be covered by a series of shorts focusing primarily on an experience of one character over the summer in a manner like _Tales of Ba Sing Se_ in _Avatar_. The sum total of the shorts will be somewhere around 30k words.

In other news, I have 42k words of a Code Geass fic that I've been idly working on occasionally for the past six or so months called _Kallen Stadtfeld, Countess of Britannia_. In short, Kallen leaves for Britannia with her father before Japan is invaded and befriends Lelouch. The five chapters I have done so far covers their unfortunate childhood. Check out my profile page for the link.


	10. Serious Matters

**A/N:** JKR owns Harry Potter.

* * *

Act Two - A Black Comedy  
Chapter Nine - Serious Matters

When Auror Moody kicked the door open, Hermione expected a number of possible outcomes ranging from Harry rushing over to hug Sirius Black – which seemed rather unlikely now – to Harry leaping to kick him in the groin. What she did not expect was for Black's head to loll forward, pause there for a moment, and then for him to break out in mad, shuddering laughter. But then that was what Azkaban did to people, if they survived.

"I've gone mad," Black croaked out. He kept speaking without stopping to breathe in a horrible, raspy voice that sounded as painful as it was slurred and incomprehensible.

Hermione and Harry looked to each other, both very confused. Hermione almost thought they had the wrong man. Unshaven and unwashed as he was, it was next to impossible to recognise this person as the Sirius Black who could be found in books. The gaunt look he had about him wherever skin was visible only made him more unfamiliar.

"Black, shut up," Auror Moody barked. He waved his wand and broke free the chains holding down the man's arms. "We've got some chocolate for you." He flicked his wand again and sent the veritaserum-laced chocolates flying to the other side of the room.

Meanwhile, Hermione and Harry moved to take the chairs across from Black, although Harry only did so reluctantly with some gentle insistence on Hermione's part. She very much did not want him to be able to easily throw himself at Black's neck, whether that be for a hug or to strangle the man, and sitting down seemed like the easiest way to accomplish that. Auror Moody took up a position just behind them, presumably watching for the first sign of trouble.

"Chocolate?" Black's expression looked almost confused. As the seconds dragged on, it became clear he _was_ confused. He stayed that way even after his shaking hands opened the box. It took him far, far too long to realise what he held in his grasp, but it was obvious when he did; the tears made it so. His eyes lost a bit of their glazed appearance, and he spoke in faltering words. "I – I – James, do you – I got the rat. Was that enough? Do you forgive me?"

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. _James? He thinks Harry is his father? No wonder Black thinks he's gone crazy._ She stopped to consider that for a moment. _Well, maybe he has._

"Eat the chocolate," Harry commanded coldly with an unreadable expression.

There was no hesitation. Whether it be from a lost sense of self-preservation, simple ignorance, or some sense of remorse, Black devoured the chocolate more and more desperately with each bite. If it were poisoned, he would be very, very dead right now. Harry took the opportunity to scoff another chocolate bar himself, and Hermione had some of her own just to be safe.

By the time Black had finished eating, Hermione noticed his eyes had taken on a slightly vacant look, as if he were having trouble focusing on anything, which he probably was. Veritaserum was not entirely unlike being under the imperius, or so Hermione had read. It felt _good_ to answer questions, even when crying and reliving your worst memories, nevermind that only a trained occlumens had any choice in the matter with a high enough dosage.

Before Harry could ask any questions, Auror Moody slipped him a piece of parchment. Harry read it, and for a few seconds, he looked like he had no idea what to say. Eventually, he shook his head and passed it off to Hermione.

 _Call him Padfoot,_ Hermione read. _What's that supposed to mean?_

Harry had apparently decided to take the advice. He said, "Padfoot, tell me what happened Halloween 1981."

"You don't know?" There was a bit of strength back in Black's voice, but it still sounded like sandpaper. "Of course you don't know. You died. Probably too busy fighting to survive to think." His head shifted mechanically to look at Hermione. "Who's the bird? Don't tell me you and Lily broke up."

Hermione really hoped that Harry remembered Black had only taken enough veritaserum to be unable to lie, not to volunteer _relevant_ information. Losing his temper would not help matters.

"Tell me what happened," Harry demanded again more strongly. Black cringed away, but immediately after, he surged forward the few centimetres his chains allowed, begging.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. My fault. It's all my–"

"What happened!" Harry shouted. Black fled away into the back of his chair and shrunk down under Harry's tone, quietly sobbing and mumbling apologies. Hermione turned her attention away from Black completely onto Harry to make sure she could stop him in time if he tried to do anything foolish. Auror Moody likely would, too, if necessary, but he would certainly be much more _forceful_ about it. For the moment, though, Harry appeared content to squeeze the arms of his chair to death with his hands.

"Ha – James, why don't you let me ask something?"

Harry whipped his head around to glare in Hermione's direction. She, in turn, did her best to wait patiently for his eventual reluctant nod.

"Padfoot, how did you kill, er, the rat?" _Is that supposed to refer to Peter Pettigrew? The aurors_ did _conclude that Black transfigured him into a rat before stomping him to death, although not why…_ Hermione discarded that train of thought. She could clarify that later if needed. For now, with any luck, Black would be coherent enough to answer her question to start with. He _had_ had a more positive reaction toward 'catching the rat' earlier.

Again, Black made that mad, wheezing laugh, although this one was interlaced with sobs. His head lolled back, and by the end of it, he was in a coughing fit that racked his entire frame. Even with his crimes, Hermione flinched away from the sight. No muggle country would tolerate treating _anyone_ like this. Black's arms looked thin enough that, if his legs were in the same state, then his ability to walk unaided must have long since left him. Underfed, constantly under the torture of the dementors, robbed of any memory that could make him even the slightest bit happy – Hermione regretted agreeing to come here. The more she watched Black, the more she felt that there was something fundamentally broken in Magical Britain. She wondered if he even remembered that Harry, the mere idea of him, _existed_.

If nothing else, Hermione was grateful that neither she nor Harry had been taken through the prison proper all the way to Black's cell. She refused to even contemplate what she might hear or see along that walk.

Finally, Black was able to answer. From his tone, he had worked up the anger to. "Wormtail tried to get away by blowing up the street, but I was a hundred times the fighter that coward ever was. My severing charm only got a finger, but I summoned the rat through the smoke and fire and crushed him beneath my boot. That idiot didn't even think to charm himself unsummonable."

It sounded like Sirius was about to descend into incoherent rambling again, so Hermione held up her hand to stop him. Yes, apparently 'the rat' referred to Pettigrew, but more importantly, she asked, "Wait. Did you _not_ kill those muggles?"

"No? What muggles?"

"The muggles that died in the explosion."

"Don't know. Probably not. Peter blew up the muggle thingy."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. This was why people always got trials. Granted Black was still guilty of at the very least second-degree murder, but Pettigrew probably should never have been given a posthumous Order of Merlin. Even if it was unintentional, killing thirteen muggles in a poorly conceived escape attempt was not terribly noble of him.

 _Seriously, why did Pettigrew even try to apprehend Black if he–_ Hermione's eyes widened, but Harry had figured it out before her. Even before him, she heard Auror Moody cast a patronus charm behind them for some reason, only for the silvery light it cast to disappear within moments.

"How did you end up encountering Pettigrew?" Harry asked. He was on the edge of his seat and leaned as far forward as his seat would allow.

"He covered his tracks flawlessly, but the idiot went home. I followed him before he could scrub his apparition trail. Not that that was hard; you could smell the rat's stench anywhere in Britain."

"Do you know why I was betrayed," Harry asked. Hermione noted that it was phrased loosely enough to answer _who_ did the betraying. With any luck, it would avoid tripping over Black's guilt issues. And with the veritaserum in him, it was _certain_ that he _felt_ like everything was his fault; over a decade of dementor exposure would wear down even the best occlumens. The real question, then, was if it actually _was_ his fault.

"No," Black growled, an act which morphed into a spiteful, howling laughter. "The filthy rat died before I could ask."

 _This is not good._ Hermione sunk into thought, shutting out the world. This was almost the worst case scenario possible; if Black never got out of here, it would destroy Harry. And the constant niggling of her life debt demanding that she do something incredibly stupid such as breaking Harry's godfather and very likely proper legal guardian out of Azkaban only made this more complicated.

 _Okay, okay. Fact check. It's_ possible _Black has misled us, but presuming that he_ is _a faithful godfather, Harry is going to latch onto him emotionally_ – Hermione glanced up for a moment – _ten seconds ago._

 _The head of the DMLE at the end of the war was…Bartemius Crouch. Bartemius Crouch Senior, specifically. He was the one who pushed for aurors to shoot to kill in the war, so unless someone tampered with the evidence – or the investigators didn't do their job – I don't see why he'd send_ Auror _Black to Azkaban without a trial; he didn't stand to gain anything from it. There'd have to have been some outside pressure from higher up, or the public, or something._

 _Were any_ other _aurors prosecuted for their actions during the war? I…can't think of a precedent, but I've never explicitly looked for one either. That doesn't really help much, though. Black's actions were clearly personal, premeditated, and explicitly to kill. If he ever got a trial, it'd be extraordinarily easy to throw him back into Azkaban. Legally speaking, he…probably deserves to be in prison, though I'd never say that to Harry. But Azkaban isn't… No one deserves Azkaban._

 _Okay, so who would want him here and to stay here? Who would interfere?_

 _Bartemius Crouch_ might _just to save face, but I don't think he'd do that to one of_ his _aurors._

 _Black is Harry's godfather. I think that means he's supposed to get Harry unless otherwise specified by Harry's mum and dad. Someone who wanted to dispute guardianship, then? That could only reasonably be Headmaster Dumbledore, but the idea is ridiculous. The only quibble there would be the blood wards, but between Harry's fortune and what little is left of the Black fortune, it'd be easy enough to bribe the Dursleys to let Black live with them, too, with the latter having at least de facto custody of Harry. It'd have made Dumbledore's life a lot easier, too, since Black would have been able to reign the Dursleys in himself._

 _Ah!_ Hermione smacked a hand to her forehead as it hit her. _The Black lordship! The Blacks are a noble house. The last two generations are all that's left, and Sirius is the only remaining member of the head family, so he holds the title right now. I think. If he died, it would pass to…I think Bellatrix Lestrange is older than Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks was officially cast out of the family, but her life imprisonment might disqualify her. Or her questionable sanity, if not that. Without an official adoption – which probably can't be done from Azkaban – only after those two_ and _Draco Malfoy died would the Black lordship pass to Harry. Black is right where they want him._

Hermione slumped back into her chair. The Malfoys and their allies alone would be a difficult enough challenge to overcome, especially when they most likely had the law on their side, but any attempt to free Black would have to contend with everyone who would prefer not to see him claim his inheritance. Few people would like to see the Lestrange Family ennobled, she was sure, but they might see it as the lesser of two evils. Bellatrix Lestrange was Quirrelmort's right-hand witch, his most fanatical and loyal ally. Sirius Black was pro-muggle, pro-muggleborn, a 'blood traitor', and worst of all, was well known to _despise_ both his family and magical traditions.

 _Half the Wizengamot would vote against him just on principle,_ Hermione concluded, absent the usual rush of having solved a puzzle. There was little hope of getting Black set free through that route. _Urgh, this is a disaster! I_ told _Harry this was going to end in heartbreak._

Hermione mentally grabbed hold of the irritating feeling of her life debt prodding her with bad ideas and throttled it as best as she could. She was in no mood. The last thing Harry needed now was her getting herself thrown into Azkaban, too, especially not in some absurd escape attempt.

And now that she considered her mood, Hermione pulled a piece of chocolate from her pouch and ate it. Suddenly, the future felt a little less bleak.

 _Maybe…_ Hermione hesitantly began. Even though Harry claimed to be resigned to his fame, he would hate this idea. _Maybe Harry could reach out to the public. With enough public support for the Boy-Who-Lived,_ maybe _we could get Black out of here with time served on Pettigrew's death. Lady Bones should be sympathetic, if for no other reason than to keep resources out of Death Eater hands. Sirius isn't really a Black in spirit, and she gets along well enough with Tonks. Dumbledore would help, too. Would that be enough?_

Biting on her lip, Hermione considered if it were wrong to conspire to free an unrepentant murderer, even if his victim really did probably deserve it. If Black could at least claim to have gone through the motions of an off-duty auror, she would feel a lot less conflicted about this, but from the sound of it, he had been out for blood, nothing more and nothing less.

"Don't mind her." Hermione picked up on the weak and sniffling-plagued voice of Harry, and being the only female in the room, assumed he was talking about her. "She gets like that when she's thinking. You just have to snap your fingers–"

"Don't you dare!" Hermione protested before Harry could even _think_ about coming over to snap his fingers in her face. She glared at him on his chair, which he had apparently moved to be right next to Black at some point. All the chains on Black were broken off but the ones on his feet, Hermione noted, so he could hardly have been the one to move to Harry. At some point, a huge pile of discarded chocolate wrappings had built up around those two.

Black wheezed, which Hermione assumed was meant to be a chuckle. "Quite a temper on that one, Prongslet. Let me guess. Terrifyingly brilliant, reads all the time, stubborn to a fault, and doesn't know how to mind her own business?"

Hermione felt her eye twitch, and Harry's response _did not_ help.

"I would hardly say so in front of her. Why?"

Once more, Black made that wheezing sound that passed for laughter in Azkaban. "Just like James, and Charlus, and Henry. The Potters must be cursed. Try not to be too much of an arse to her."

"What? Of course I won't!"

Harry might have missed the subtext, but he was a boy. Hermione expected no less. That said, she kept her mouth shut and let Black think whatever he wanted. The dementors had almost certainly torn away all of his strictly good memories years ago. If letting him think she was or would be dating Harry made him happy, that was fine; he needed all the happiness he could manage to hold onto here.

Interrupting what Hermione knew she should consider a touching moment – and would, if she were less irked – the door to the room behind her swung open. Curious, Hermione twisted herself around to find Lady Bones of all people walking in. She stopped only a couple steps inside and raised her eyebrows at the scene before her.

"Alastor. Explain."

"You need to fire whoever did the half-arsed investigation on Black. If it were up to me, I'd dress him up and throw him out of here, but we've still got him on the murder of Death Eater scum."

"And you're certain of this?" Lady Bones asked, her expression the very definition of sceptical.

Auror Moody uttered a gruff, "Of course," before pulling a small vial out of a pocket. "Since you seem so eager to be rid of me, feel free to discharge me early." Given the context, Hermione assumed the vial was filled with veritaserum. When this was all over, she really would have to find a way to thank him for both overlooking her illegal use of the potion _and_ for covering for her.

"Dammit, Alastor," Lady Bones said, swiping the vial of veritaserum away from him. She swept past both him and Hermione, coming to a halt just in front of Black.

"Amy? You're so _old_."

Lady Bones took the opportunity to slap Black. "Shut it, Sirius, before I stop pretending you're a Potter." Rather roughly, she grabbed hold of his face with one hand and pried open an eye. "He still looks a bit affected. How many drops?"

"Two should get him fully under again."

It was at that point that Black obviously finally understood that they were talking about possibly freeing him – eventually. He looked toward Harry, beaming. At some point, his eyes took a moment to find Hermione's just long enough to give her a small thankful nod. Hermione returned it with an equally small smile. Apparently, he had caught on to the fact that the veritaserum had been her idea.

While Lady Bones saw to it that Black fell fully under the effects of veritaserum this time, Hermione sidled up to Auror Moody and quietly asked, "Did they date or something?" With the age gap, it seemed unlikely, but one never knew.

"No. The Blacks and the Boneses have despised each other since the last century. More recently, Bellatrix Lestrange had the bright idea to attempt to end the Bones line. Naturally, Amelia took the opportunity to declare a blood feud."

"Ah. But then Lady Bones and Black…"

"Those two had to work together before then, so Amelia tells herself that Black is James Potter's brother. He was all but officially expunged from the Black family, and the Potters took him in, so she tolerates him. She won't admit it, but she likes Tonks, though."

"Shut it, Alastor," Lady Bones said, an unspoken threat underlying her voice.

"Oh," Hermione said and promptly fell silent, herself. _How awkward. The head of law enforcement in a blood feud._ That certainly helped explain why Susan knew so much about Ron's dragon story, though, and in such detail, too.

Soon enough, Black was under the influence of veritaserum again. His eyes glazed over completely this time, and his features shifted from deliriously happy to a more neutral expression.

"What is your full given name?" Lady Bones asked. And now that attention had been called to it, Hermione wondered why Auror Moody had decided not to call her on forgetting to do so herself earlier. The _obvious_ thing to do was to check that you had the right person – or at least someone who believed they were the right person.

"Sirius Orion Black."

"Alright, we'll start at the beginning, then. Are you or have you ever been a Death Eater or affiliated with members of the aforementioned group."

"Just Peter Pettigrew." Even with the veritaserum dampening his his ability to respond in anything but a dull, monotone voice, Black still managed to put a fair amount of vitriol into his reply.

Lady Bones slapped a hand to her forehead, groaning. "Have you checked him for occlumency?"

"What do you take me for, Amelia?" Auror Moody growled. "Unless he's an unprecedented prodigy able to fool even me after all these years of being dementor food, he's an open book."

"Memory charms?"

"He's clean on a casual inspection. I'm not going to spend weeks checking him for consistency. But I'd stake my career on him having true memories. No one who'd have had a motive to make _these_ changes – whoever _that_ would be – has had the weeks of access that would be required to make a consistent story since the end of the war, and I'd have noticed a drastic shift in his behaviour such a large alteration would have made before then."

Hermione quietly shrunk into herself. It was a very good thing, it seemed, that Black had _not_ somehow managed to escape either on his own or with…help. Not that she had _seriously_ considered a prison break, of course, but still.

"Someone is going to burn for this," Lady Bones muttered. Turning back to Black, she asked, "Did you intentionally betray the Potters?"

"Y-yes." The veritaserum forced Black to answer despite the obvious pain slipping onto his face even through it.

Harry's face quickly warped through shock and pain to a hateful glare. Hermione, having known Harry would almost certainly leap to a wrong conclusion, had moved closer to him and set her hands on his shoulders, holding him in place.

"Remember," Hermione whispered to Harry. "He thinks this is his fault. Veritaserum only gives you subjective truths, and it was a _very_ broad question."

Harry considered that for a moment before calming down. With him under control, Lady Bones moved on to her next question.

"What was the nature of your betrayal?"

"Lily wanted me to stay their secret keeper on Samhain, but I convinced James to convince her to use Peter instead."

"They switched? To Pettigrew?" Auror Moody asked in disbelief as if the mere idea were rooted in madness.

"Yes."

Auror Moody launched into a string of what Hermione could only presume were Gaelic curses.

"What do you know of this, Alastor?" Lady Bones asked.

The man in question glanced at Harry before replying. "Lily cast the fidelius charm on the house in Godric's Hollow when she found out she was pregnant with Black here as the secret keeper. James cast it again on another place we used as a safe house with the same secret keeper. Made them both just short of useless."

"Why?" Harry asked.

Without a name or pronoun, veritaserum demanded Black answer that question. "The fidelius charm is a constant drain on the castor's magic. James and Lily barely had enough leftover for cantrips."

"Aye," Auror Moody said. "After You-Know-Who stepped up his campaign and his pursuit of the Potters, we decided to lay an ambush. The plan was for Pettigrew to betray Black's location to the Death Eaters. They knew he was the secret keeper. He was supposed to escape and fail to burn down his house, leaving a copy of the safe house's secret behind."

Lady Bones turned on Black and slapped him upside the head. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" She immediately held up a hand and added, "No, don't answer that. Why did you make the switch?"

"I thought we could trust Peter, and if I were captured, You-Know-Who could have torn the important secret out of my head. Peter was the best occlumens among us. Far better than me. And it seemed clever at the time."

As Lady Bones facepalmed, Hermione felt Harry breathe slowly and deeply beneath her hands still on his shoulders.

"You're an idiot," Lady Bones began, "and I understand why you feel guilty, Sirius, but your actions are not a criminal offence. Were you responsible for the deaths of any of the muggles caught in the explosion when you confronted Pettigrew?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"As an ex-auror, do you believe the manner in which you killed Pettigrew would find you guilty of either murder or manslaughter in a fair and unbiased court?"

There was no hesitation. "Yes."

Lady Bones let out an exasperated sigh. "Last question. Are there any other crimes that could be brought against you were you to go to trial that you _are_ aware of?"

"I'm an unregistered animagus."

"Of course you are," Lady Bones muttered, quite clearly done with that line of inquiry.

"And," Black continued through the interruption, "I also attempted to, at minimum, infect Severus Snape with lycanthropy–"

"What?" Hermione shrieked.

"–to make him _stay_ away from Lily."

Beyond disgusted, Hermione sputtered, "What kind of – of all the – you are – what were you thinking!"

Apparently, veritaserum accepted rhetorical questions as actual questions, because Black answered. "Snape was an arsehole not worth Lily's time, and his friends would have happily raped her, treated her like dirt, and then killed her when they were done with her."

"You – you – you foul, loathsome…" Hermione had no word to finish that to her satisfaction in her vocabulary. "Is it your fault Lily and Professor Snape stopped being friends?"

Hermione felt a hand fall on her own shoulder. Turning her head, she found Lady Bones was staring down at her with a frown, albeit a sympathetic one. Still, it passed on her message loud and clear: stop asking questions.

Meanwhile, Black answered Hermione's last question. "Partially."

And, of course, Harry was not paying attention to Lady Bones or even Black at the moment, so he asked Hermione, "Mum and Snape were friends?"

"Yes," both Hermione and Black said.

"I – what else happened?" Turning from Hermione to Black, Harry asked, "What did you do?"

"James, Remus, Peter, and I" – in his momentary hesitation, Sirius was clearly trying to resist the apparently weakening veritaserum and his word choice, but it was no use – "bullied Snape frequently. Lily would always rush to his defence, but one time he lashed out at her. I don't know why he did, but they had a huge fight over something and drifted apart after that. She always refused to speak of what."

Hermione felt Harry tense the longer Black spoke before he finally slumped down below her. James Potter had fallen off whatever pedestal Harry had put him on _hard_. Shifting to be able to see his face, Harry looked like someone had just taken his candy, stolen his favourite stuffed animal, _and_ shot his owl all in the same day.

As much as Hermione herself wanted to deck Black, a cold worry invaded her head. The world just took and took and took people from Harry, and because of her own foolish indignation and demand for answers, now _she_ had taken his father's memory from him. What was wrong with her? Why did Harry even put up with her?

An even worse thought wormed its way into Hermione's mind. Harry _would not_ put up with her after this. How could he forgive this trespass, for her stealing what little he had left of his family? He barely had anything good in his life. Every loss was magnified. Every hurt cut all the deeper.

Hermione felt her mouth be forced open, and someone stuffed something inside it. "Chew, Lass." That must have been Auror Moody. And it was chocolate in her mouth.

Slowly, it dawned on Hermione just how much she hated this place and dementors.

Swallowing first, Hermione quietly said, "Thank you." She glanced down to see Harry nibbling on his own supply of chocolate – no worries there.

Before anyone could ask any further questions, Lady Bones swept forward and poured a different potion down Black's throat. "I think we've heard enough," she said, handing it off to Auror Moody after. Presumably, the potion she had just administered was the antidote to veritaserum. As it took effect, Black at least had the common decency to show more and more shame on his face. Without the stabilising effects of veritaserum, though, he went back to being an at least half-mad mess who visibly had to struggle to focus on a conversation.

While that was going on, Harry let his head roll backward to look up at Hermione. "Did you know?"

Hermione shook her head back and forth fast enough that she had to move her hair out of her eyes when she was done. "Professor Flitwick mentioned that your mum and Professor Snape were best friends, but that's all. Honest. Er, well, he did also imply that your dad wasn't exactly the nicest person and had to do a lot of growing up to get your mum to date him, and–"

Hermione's eyes widened for a moment before she furrowed her brows. _And he completely sidestepped telling me why Professor Snape is so mean to Harry._ _That snake!_ "Oh, I don't know, Harry. It didn't really sound all that important when he mentioned it, and I kind of forgot with the whole mirror incident right after that, and–"

"It's fine," Harry said. Those two words were almost always a lie when he uttered them, but he actually sounded like he meant it this time.

"If – if it helps," Black said weakly, just loud enough to draw attention, "James punched me in the face and saved Sniv – Snape just before…before the werewolf I _used_ could get to him."

 _Oh, Merlin,_ Hermione groaned. If her guess was correct, much was explained. _The identical-looking son of a hated enemy he owed a life debt to and the woman he lost to said enemy. It's no wonder Professor Snape hates Harry so much. And treating Harry poorly would just flare the debt, which would make him even more irritable. It's a positive feedback loop!_

"Alastor," Lady Bones said while Harry and Black chatted with each other. They were much more subdued now than before and with a great deal of choppiness on Black's end, but they _were_ talking. "What were you expecting me to do with this? There's no way Sirius's case will be settled in any court lower than the Wizengamot, and while I'd like people to be imprisoned for the _right_ reasons, I'm not entirely sure he doesn't belong here."

"Bah! The only harm he's caused is to Death Eater scum. He's more than served his time for the only charges I could give a damn about. At the very least, you can get him moved to the upper levels away from the dementors pending a trial, and the aurors on duty would treat him better. Play your cards right, and you could turn that life sentence into twenty, maybe fifteen, years. Best case scenario, he'd be out just after Potter's OWLs, then. Worst case, he's out in time for his godson's wedding. Either way, he gets moved up and out of the worst of it in the pits."

Neither Harry nor Black were paying attention, but Hermione was. Granted, Harry would still need to publicly support Black, or it would be all too easy to throw the Boy-Who-Lived's supposed betrayer back into Azkaban, but she felt _far_ more comfortable with Auror Moody's plan than with any of her ideas so far. Some of the things that Black had done were absolutely vile, but he _should_ have gone through the courts for what he was actually guilty of rather than without trial for what he had allegedly done.

Still, maybe it was possible to simply get Black's sentence declared as time served. Nearly twelve years being constantly tortured with your worst memories and your just okay ones twisted was worse than _anyone_ deserved. That, and Harry deserved a chance to connect with the man, even if he was a less than ideal role model. Maybe, if they were very lucky, they could even find a loophole to take the Black lordship from him. If they did, no one would really have a reason to waste time and resources keeping him here, not even the Malfoys.

A little hopeful for a happy ending, Hermione took a bite of chocolate.

* * *

Today had been adequate. That was an adequate way to describe today.

"We'll need to get to _The Prophet_ before this leaks if we want any chance of success, and make no mistake, the ministry leaks like sieve. Now that paper lives and breathes scandal, so most importantly, we'll need to set _which one_. This can't turn into a story about _you_. If it does, all anyone will care about is how you're affected by the investigation, at which point it would become a competition to see who can yell the loudest. We're going to need public pressure for this, which means keeping the public angry _for_ you and _at_ whoever is responsible for both depriving you of your family and imprisoning the head of a noble house."

Harry hummed along at the right moments as Lady Bones instructed him on how they needed to approach the mess that was Sirius Black, or rather how she wanted them to behave and stay out of the way. Admittedly, he was counting on Hermione to be paying more attention, because his mind was elsewhere, far, far away from any of the DMLE's meeting rooms.

"To put it simply, Mr Potter, this is going to be a game of politics and favours. Elections are approaching, too, which will make this even more complicated. Spun the right way in the right circumstances, Fudge might throw his support behind Sirius. However, one of his opponents…"

 _Mum was friends with Snape. Dad was a bully._ Harry sighed discreetly, hoping that Lady Bones would miss it. _I guess I shouldn't hold that against him. He grew up eventually. Snape probably wasn't entirely innocent either. Just…_ As much as Harry hated it, unwanted, unwelcome, and probably unjustified comparisons between his dad and both his uncle and cousin kept trespassing upon his thoughts.

Sirius had answered his questions about his dad's school days, but with the replies he had gotten, Harry rather wished the man had not. He sighed again. _What kind of person goes around hexing random students? And just because_ he could _?_

 _Well, my dad, apparently. And my godfather. And their Death Eater best friend._

Harry let out an exasperated sigh, not at all hiding it this time. Hermione and Lady Bones looked at him strangely, the latter with narrowed brows and clearly a bit offended. "Sorry," he said. "My mind was elsewhere."

Nodding, apparently satisfied with the excuse, Lady Bones resumed their discussion. "As I was saying, don't talk to a woman named Rita Skeeter between now and… Well, it would be best if you never talked to her. She engages in the worst kind of muckraking; the woman is without scruple."

 _In short, don't talk to reporters without Hermione, who actually reads the paper and knows who's who, approving it first. Simple enough._ He really should pay attention. Harry knew that. But his mind truly was elsewhere.

 _I wonder how Dad would have turned out if he hadn't been so attracted to Mum. I know Sirius can only really remember the bad things in life, but even taking all of it with more than a pinch of salt and a handful of dementors, it_ still _makes Dad and him look awful._

 _At least Mum was as brilliant and wonderful as I'd imagined. Top of her class, prefect, head girl, not afraid to share her opinion even with the war escalating, cleaned up after Dad's messes, helped his victims…_

Harry's fingers twitched. That was the other thing; he wanted to deck _someone_ , but he had no idea _who_. Snape and Sirius, the two obvious targets, both fell short of the mark.

 _Why does there always have to be_ reasons _?_

Would it really be so bad if the world put someone in front of him and said, "Punch him. No really, he deserves it. He's just evil because why not."

 _The way my life goes, next I'm going to find out that Quirrelmort is an anti-hero or something dumb like that._

"I'll sketch out a draft tonight of what we'll need to cover. We'll go over it thoroughly tomorrow and then cast the die. Will nine in the morning work for you?"

 _Oh, that was addressed to me, wasn't it?_ "Yes, that's fine. Should I bring anything in particular?"

"No, but do wear formal robes, and ensure that anyone escorting you does as well."

Harry rolled his head toward Hermione. "Are you up for a day of careful words and thinly veiled insults, or will it just be your dad and me?"

"Bleh. Unless you need me there, I'll pass, thank you."

"It's never too early to begin your rise to power, you know."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the sarcasm. "Sure, Harry. I appoint you as my press secretary. Get to work."

 _Wow, I think I've created a monster._

Eyebrows raised, Lady Bones looked on with some expression that had yet to decide if it should be a smile or a frown. "Miss Granger, should I be concerned about this?"

Before Hermione could answer, Harry said, "Probably," which earned him a glare. "What?" He held his hands up and put on a show of innocence. "I'm just performing my duty as an honest citizen."

Pointedly ignoring him, Hermione turned away from Harry. "Thank you for your time, Lady Bones. I'll make sure Harry isn't late."

Harry, too, said his thanks on his way out. Immediately as soon as they were alone but for the uncaring DMLE officials walking past, Hermione turned and walked off, leaving him to follow her.

On the lift down to the atrium, Hermione broke the silence. "So what did you think of your godfather?"

That was a question for which Harry had yet to find a proper answer. "I don't know." There was one thing he was sure of, however. He glanced over to meet Hermione's eyes for a moment, trying to remember the exact phrasing she had used. The bell rang, the lift came to a fast stop, and the doors opened. "It's just nice that I have someone who's obligated to care and does."

"That's fair," Harry heard Hermione say as he drifted off back into thought.

 _So Snape is an arse, my dad and his friends made him that way, my godfather almost killed him and went unpunished, and he's taking it out on me._ Harry ran a hand through his hair, clutching at his skull and wishing this would all just go away. _Why is there no one I can hex or apologise to to make this better?_

Oh, Harry could just hear Hermione now. _You foolish_ boy _! Even Ronald knows that things don't always come to hexing or begging._

And then Harry would say, _Yeah, he knows how to ignore everything and pretend it's all alright._ And of course, he would say it loud enough to draw a protest from across the common room from the boy in question.

But then Hermione would just frown at him, accusing him of being prone to the very same, which was quite simply not true. Well, it was not true _anymore_. Hermione had stuck her nose into Harry's business more and more, and now they were at the point where it was next to impossible for him to ignore his problems.

Then finally, Harry would slump over and act defeated, which he knew would make Hermione relax and give him real advice. She probably would tell him that sometimes things could just not be fixed.

 _*snap!*_

Harry yelped and jumped backward. There in front of him stood Hermione looking _very_ self-satisfied. She lowered her fingers away from his face. "I take it you weren't paying attention."

"Not really."

"That's fine. I got part of my revenge out of it. Anyway, we're flooing to The Leaky Cauldron. _Please_ try not to end up at Borgin and Burkes again."

Harry silently cursed Ron and made a note to find something embarrassing about him to tell Hermione. "I won't. You go first, and be ready to catch me. I hate these things."

Taking a pinch of floo powder, Hermione stepped into the ministry's public floo. She called out, "Diagon Alley," and she was gone in a burst of warm, green flame.

Harry followed Hermione's example. "Ugh. Well, here's to another faceplant. Diagon Alley." For three long seconds of painless contortions and not being entirely sure where each part of his body was, he cursed the name of whoever invented floo travel. At the end of his journey, he came to a sudden and immediate halt, but his body wanted to keep its momentum. He shot forward, trying to follow Mrs Weasley's advice. His foot came down as if he were running.

And Harry's stride proved too short. He rotated forward with his foot as a pivot and brought out his hands to catch himself.

"Goodness, you really are bad at this," Emma said.

Harry grumbled something incomprehensible. Freeing himself from Emma's grasp, he said, "Thanks."

"So, you two. How did it go?"

"I need to find out where I can buy books on magical law, particularly as regards the Wizengamot and inheritance."

Harry rolled his eyes. Of course that was how Hermione responded to that question. What happened mattered less than what research she needed to do. Knowing that she would just tell him it would be the height of madness to go into this struggle completely blind, he said nothing. Besides, she needed to read that stuff anyway if she wanted to go into politics.

"Hermione, that didn't quite answer my question…" Left unsaid was Emma's obvious concern that they had gotten themselves in trouble with the law.

"Sirius is…" Harry began. He trailed off awkwardly as he tried to put a word to exactly what the man's legal status should be. "Eh, mostly innocent." It was as good a description as any, he supposed.

Emma hesitated to ask, but being Hermione's mum, no doubt her curiosity overwhelmed her. "I think I'm going to need you two to explain."

* * *

Hermione softly knocked on the door to Harry's room. Well, it was actually one of the guest rooms, but it was already hard to think of it like that anymore, even if Harry rarely used it for sleeping.

"Harry, are you awake?"

Harry's only response was to open the door. Lying on his bed, his wand lazily fell out of his hand when Hermione stepped inside. A well-worn old book without a cover or title lay next to him opened, face down, and abandoned.

"Supper will be ready in about an hour."

"Okay."

For a few seconds, Hermione thought about tickling the brooding out of Harry, but she doubted he would appreciate it even after the fact. Despite his nap, he still looked exhausted from their trip to meet Sirius. Instead, she climbed onto the bed next to him on her knees. Staring down at him, she asked, "Do you want to talk about today?"

"Does it matter if I say no?"

Hermione smiled. At least Harry felt well enough to make sarcastic remarks. "It would delay the inevitable."

That managed to elicit a chuckle from Harry. "I don't know. I don't know what to be feeling right now."

"You don't need to be feeling only one thing, you know. I'll have to rescind your honourary girl status if you can't."

Completely deadpan, Harry said, "Oh, no. I couldn't live with the shame if you did that." Then after taking a few seconds to think, he said, "Easy things first, I guess. Thank you for coming with me. And for being here afterwards."

"You're welcome." Hermione let Harry dwell on false hope for a few moments before tearing down the illusion. "Gratitude doesn't count."

"Does being fine count?"

"Of course not."

Harry clicked his tongue and rolled his head to look off toward a wall.

"But," Hermione added, "I'm glad to hear you're not dying."

"I _feel_ like I should be offended," Harry said with an exaggerated pout. It was nowhere near enough to get Hermione to budge, though. If he truly needed time to himself to think, he would just say so. "Alright, well, I'm happy that my godfather didn't actually betray my parents to Quirrelmort. Ecstatic, even. I know it's not fair to people like the Tonkses; they tried when asked. But I have a real guardian out there who actually wants and likes me. There's just…complications."

"That's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?"

Harry nodded. The strained expression on his face said he was in complete agreement. "Part of me is peeved that Sirius ran off to hunt down Pettigrew instead of taking care of me, but at the same time, I think if I'd just heard you'd been murdered and seen your body, I'd be on a warpath, too."

"I think I'll say that's sweet, call you a foolish boy, and refrain from further comment."

Harry's smile lasted for all of two seconds before he returned to frowning. After Hermione had waited patiently for long enough, he eventually said, "I think most of all I'm just…frustrated. I keep getting thrown into the middle of conflicts that don't have anything to do with me. Well, with nothing to do with anything _my_ actions have caused."

"Nothing is ever simple?"

"Exactly!" After that brief burst of energy, Harry took a deep breath and then let all of his muscles relax, leaving him splayed out on the bed even more so than before. "Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"There's something I wanted to ask you." Hermione just waited patiently for him to continue, so eventually, Harry said, "You know how to brew veritaserum, I assume."

"Yes," Hermione hesitantly replied, not sure why Harry was asking. "It's a bit of an involved process and not exactly legal."

"I figured. Were you going to brew it if Greengrass didn't sell it to you?"

Hermione nodded. "I didn't want you to not have answers you could trust."

"How long does it take to make?"

 _Oh…_ "Weeks."

"Would you have asked me to wait?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe." Seeing the look in Harry's eyes, she decided the full truth was probably called for despite how small it made her feel. "I legitimately wanted you to learn the patronus charm anyway, but I had hoped it would stall you long enough. And…before Daphne offered to just give me veritaserum, I…I had thought about talking to Lady Bones alone."

"Thank you for being honest," Harry said surprisingly calmly. But then he _had_ probably already guessed the truth, given that he'd asked the question at all to begin with. "I have too much else going on at the moment to find the energy to really care right now, but I want to nip this in the bud before we get into a real fight over it."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said rather weakly.

Sighing, Harry bit his lip as he searched for the right words. "Look. You can be really pushy, but this… I know that you're usually right about things, but please don't make decisions for me like that. I don't appreciate it, but more importantly, I don't like that you wouldn't at least tell me why you think I'm being stupid _before_ trying to make sure I can't be if I don't listen."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said again. "I'll try not to do that. But you have to at least give whatever concerns I have serious thought and not just brush them off."

"I can do that."

A smile found its way onto Hermione's face. "Great. I'm glad this got resolved before we ended up in some inane fight with each other."

"And I'm glad we settled that like adults or whatever instead of angry, moody teenagers."

"That _is_ nice." Hermione waited a few seconds to give Harry hope. It might be pushing her luck at this particular moment, but she, at least, found it amusing. "You haven't distracted me from what we were talking about before, you know."

"Tch."

Of course, Hermione kept quiet while she waited. Pushing for Harry to talk sooner would really accomplish nothing except miscommunication. Eventually, he found something to say, although not something she had expected.

"What do you think I should do about Professor Snape? What do I say to him? What _have_ I said to him?"

 _Oh, dear,_ Hermione sighed to herself. _And here I thought talking to him about his father would be hard._ "Harry, you're not responsible for his behaviour."

"I know, but, well, I haven't exactly made it easy to like me, either."

Hermione hummed softly, neither agreeing or disagreeing. "I'd have been very impressed if you'd been the bigger man at eleven, but you're just in time to regularly impress me at age thirteen. That's still exceeding anyone's reasonable expectations, you know."

"Not outstanding?" Harry asked, chuckling.

Choosing the easy target, Hermione slapped a hand on Harry's chest. "No, and that's not what I meant, and you know it."

Harry just stared back up at her with that silly, cheeky grin that Hermione knew would be breaking hearts in a few years.

Sighing, Hermione considered the actual question. Professor Snape was, to put it politely, a complex individual. The simplest solution would be for neither him nor Harry to be within fifty leagues of the other, but that was hardly a practical solution. It might help if Harry made a few cosmetic changes to look less like his father, but then that would be unfair to him. Almost all of the disastrous relationship those two shared came from Professor Snape's end, which Harry had no control over.

"To be honest, Harry, I'm not sure if there's really anything you can do. At least not right away. But if you want to make peace, you'll definitely need someone to approach him first on your behalf to carry the white flag. Someone he won't slam the door on."

"Would you?"

 _Would I? Of course. But should I?_ "I don't think I'd be the best choice. Maybe we could ask Susan. Or Daphne, since she's a Slytherin. Really, anyone but me who can be civil with him would do."

"Why not you?" Harry asked, quickly adding, "Just curious."

Hermione bit on her lip while internally bemoaning having to explain this to Harry. It was a bit humiliating, really. This was the kind of nonsense that she so looked forward to being free of during holidays, not that she had had much luck with that this summer.

"This didn't really come out when we were talking with Sirius, but Professor Flitwick told me that Professor Snape was in love with your mum."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and scrunched up his nose as if he had just eaten something exceedingly sour. "That is all kinds of wrong."

"You'd say the same thing about James if Professor Snape were your dad, I'm sure."

"That's…" Harry started to protest, but his complaint fell dead on his lips. "That's probably true. Still."

"Yes, yes," Hermione said with an indulgent smile. "Don't take this the wrong way. Professor Flitwick mostly mentioned all this just to get me to choke on my tea."

"Okay. I'm prepared for you to tell me Professor Snape is secretly my father and will slice off my hand someday."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Showing Harry _Star Wars_ had probably been a bad idea, but the deed was done. She would just have to put up with his silliness for the rest of her life now. At least her dad had yet to pull out the entirety of his _Monty Python_ collection. Then the true horror would start.

"It's nothing so bad as that. He said that when they were our age, of your mother, father, and Professor Snape, you most resemble the latter."

Harry's smile faded away depressingly fast. "It's better than the alternative, I suppose."

"Books aren't that bad," Hermione protested, intentionally misunderstanding, "and you _are_ an honorary girl."

Turning Hermione's own words back on her, Harry said, "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

It was Hermione's turn to grin down at Harry this time. "Yes, I do. Anyway, again, please don't take this the wrong way. A lot of people see me as a Lily analogue, and, well, it's hard not to see your dad when people look at you. Except for your eyes, you're basically a clone."

"Wait, wait, wait. What? They – you mean people think we're, you know, dating?"

Hermione blushed and avoided Harry's eyes. "You're a boy, and you've barely hit puberty. Most of it goes right over your head."

"Hey!"

"It's true! I forever curse you with this knowledge. You will never again have the innocence to miss such subtext. You, too, will now suffer the constant teasing that I've had to put up with."

"You are evil. You know that, right?"

Grinning and humming in satisfaction, Hermione nodded. No longer would she have to bear this ridiculous burden alone.

Harry let out a long sigh. "I've never actually heard this much about my mum before today. People usually only talk about my dad. But I guess I understand the comparison. At least it's not creepy this time."

"Oh? Did I miss someone trying to pair you up with a girl? And you noticed?"

"I'm not completely oblivious!" Harry said. It was cute how he actually believed that. "I think Mrs Weasley was promoting Ginny for me and, like I said last week, suggesting you to Ron, but I don't have an – an… Greek, starts with O."

"An Oedipus complex."

"Yes, that. Marrying a girl who has similar values as my mum is respectful. Marrying a girl who _looks like_ my mum… I don't even want to go there. Plus, she's a fangirl."

Harry, having been reasonably distracted with disturbing mental imagery, had entirely missed what he had both said and not said, and Hermione was hardly going to let such a golden opportunity pass her by. He would suffer as she had.

"Why, Mr Potter, are you saying you're entertaining thoughts of marrying me?"

Those proved to be truly efficacious words. In no time at all, Harry's entire face turned red. All he managed to get past his lips was some embarrassed, incoherent sputtering. Every troubled thought fled his mind. All in all, Hermione congratulated herself on a rousing success. She then poked Harry in the cheek and said, "You are just too easy." That just made him even more mortified, if that were even possible.

"Well, while you learn how to speak again – and this is just a guess, mind you – but I think Professor Snape sees himself in you, and when we're together, he sees what he lost, whether that be his best friend to his own behaviour or someone he loved to your dad. How he acts around you isn't mature, or fair, or right, or even healthy, but it's not incomprehensible either. It doesn't help that apparently your dad had to save his life. To answer your original question, that's why not me."

"Alright," Harry mumbled, and even that was still hard to understand.

"But like I said, I don't know what you could really do to make peace with him. Maybe try speaking to him Slytherin to Slytherin. You're taking potions more seriously this summer; that might help. Maybe figure out how to just ignore Malfoy so you don't give him an excuse to see you two as some strange combination of him and your dad."

"That's asking the impossible."

Hermione shrugged. "It wouldn't be a bad thing if you found a way to keep your temper around Malfoy and anyone else like him. Angry people do stupid things. Tunnel vision is a nasty thing."

Harry sighed, "I know."

There the conversation lulled again with Harry still resolutely avoiding the one topic that was probably really bothering him. Not that Hermione blamed him. James Potter had fallen from a figure of near worship in his eyes to a very normal and terribly real person with flaws.

"Well, speaking of Slytherins," Hermione said, "Daphne sent you a letter back earlier." She pulled said letter from her mokeskin pouch and held it out for him.

Harry unsealed the envelope and set to reading. From the look of it, the letter was quite short.

"Greengrass says she and her dad are willing to help and will gather a small group of notable people to be suitably outraged."

"Merlin forbid they be unsuitably outraged."

"Obviously," Harry somehow managed to say with a straight face. "They'll meet us at the ministry tomorrow, providing we tell them where your dad and I are meeting Lady Bones."

"Well, that's good. I'm not surprised Daphne is willing to help, considering the Greengrasses are a noble family like the Blacks, but I was a bit worried she wouldn't want to be so…"

"Public about it?" Hermione nodded, and Harry said, "Well, her letter didn't exactly make it sound like she's leading the cavalry's heroic charge, but it is nice to have someone be helpful for a change."

There was certainly no arguing with that, especially when it meant Harry was less likely to do something heroically stupid and suicidal.

"Speaking of which," Harry said, "do you want to start our summer adventure next Thursday? Things should've settled down by then, I think."

"You are living a fantasy." Things settling down by the eighth was an impossible dream, especially so when Lady Bones intended to deliberately fan the flames. "But how about this instead? Mum is a bit miffed that she didn't get to meet your godfather, so why don't you teach her and dad how to ride a broomstick. Auror Moody…er, implied that brooms would respond to them. Then after your next visit on the seventh, we can wander around Diagon Alley looking for an appropriate warding or curse-breaking shop. Or whatever the profession we need is called. We'll probably need an appointment, even for you."

After a moment to think about it, Hermione added, "You _were_ referring to seeking aid and not jumping right in crying 'tally-ho' as we follow the treasure map, right?"

"Yes, yes," Harry said with a dismissive – if lazy and floppy – wave. "I'll be a good little Hufflepuff and work as a team."

"There's a good boy." Hermione rubbed Harry's mess of hair as she said that, much to his indignation. He swatted at her hand, but from the effort behind it, or rather the lack of, the act was no more than for show. She was fairly sure he was finally beginning to actively enjoy the contact. _And after only a whole year of my own excruciatingly hard labour,_ she thought both sarcastically and somewhat ruefully.

Harry asked, "Who did you hire to create the wards on your house?"

"Wendel's Wards, I think. Something alliterative, like half of shops in Diagon Alley. But they only put them up. They don't tear them down."

"Ah. Well, I guess we'll have to find somewhere else, then." After a few seconds of blank staring, Harry said, "Are you sure I can't just ride off on a horse into danger crying tally-ho?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at the question. "I thought you and I had an understanding about your safety as it pertains to reckless, suicidal bravery. I will hunt you down and drag you back here if you do."

"Hmm, I see how it is." There was a dangerous grin on Harry's face for some reason, and he seemed to be trying to remember something. "How say you? Your prisoner? Or your guest? By your dread, 'Verily,' one of them I shall be."

A moment passed.

 _No…_ Hermione looked down at the much abused book Harry had tucked away half under his arm. Now that she thought of it, there was one particular book her parents so obviously loved enough to wear down to tatters. "Give me that book, Harry."

As Hermione reached for it, Harry rolled away down the bed and carried it off with him. "Ah! Not my kind hostess, then, but my gaoler."

Hermione dove for the book, missing it as Harry somersaulted backward off the bed. "You don't even like Shakespeare!" she said.

"Not true," Harry said irritatingly calmly as he dodged her attempts to grab her parent's copy of _The Winter's Tale_. "I've just never had access to copies of _The Arden Shakespeare_ outside of primary school. The footnotes make them _so_ much easier to parse. Besides, why would you hint at that you were named after Queen Hermione if you didn't want me to read the play, Your Majesty?"

"You prat! Give me that book!" With a flick of her wrist, Hermione had her rowan wand in hand. Before Harry could react, she cast the tickling charm on him. If he thought this was so funny, he could laugh and laugh all night long for all she cared. She snatched the book away from him while he fumbled with his own wand.

Making her way toward the door, Hermione said, "Supper will be ready soon. Come down after you wash up. I'll have _a reading assignment_ for you, then, you liar."

Hermione was just out the door when she heard Harry calling her back. Against her better judgement, she took a few steps backward to peer inside.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Do you hate my dad?"

 _Oh, this is a serious question._ Hermione did her best to keep her irritation out of voice for the moment. "People can change. I don't know how well I'd have gotten along with him, but it sounds like he realised that his actions were mean-spirited and, on occasion, outright cruel. I can't imagine what kind of grovelling he had to resort to for your mum to pay the slightest bit of attention to him, but if she really was anything like me, he must have grown up to be someone worth forgiving."

An unreadable expression fell onto Harry's face as he thought over Hermione's words. In all honesty, she thought her argument would be more reassuring of his dad's character than he seemed to be finding it. But to be fair, _she_ was the one who could really appreciate just how much James Potter would have needed to change and do just to get a first date. As much as she hated to acknowledge that Professor Flitwick's comparison could be valid in any potential future, even in the worst of all possible worlds, Lily dating James really would be like her dating Ron. It was all but unthinkable, an absolute nightmare.

After waiting long enough for Harry to say something, Hermione said, "Just remember that Black's memories are coloured rather unflatteringly. Come down for supper when you're ready."

Rather distracted, Harry said, "Alright. I'll be down soon."

Hermione gave Harry one last look before slipping back out of his room and down the hall. She had a collection of plays to uncover and drop on Harry along with a book to hide. Sure, he could easily find a copy of _The Winter's Tale_ elsewhere, but it was the principle of the matter.

* * *

"Understand that this doesn't leave this room, Susan."

Susan nodded eagerly, ready to finally hear exactly what had happened today after a long supper and an even longer journey home. She knew it had something to do with Sirius Black; today was the last day of June, after all, the day Harry was supposed to go visit the man. The question, then, was what exactly he'd uncovered that would finally _end_ the Black line forever.

"You remember who the living members of the House of Black are, right?"

"Narcissa Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Sirius Black. And Draco Malfoy peripherally." In all likelihood, the entitled little git would take the Black name if he got the lordship, the Blacks being far older than even the Malfoys, and merge the families in the process.

"Officially, yes," Aunt Amelia said. "Andromeda Tonks was legally cast out while Sirius never was. His father never filed the paperwork, and his mother decided not to herself after she heard about either his 'change of heart' or his spy work, depending on her mood. As it happens, she really should have."

Susan's eyes widened. "Sirius Black is innocent?"

"So it seems. More importantly, after so long in Azkaban, there's no chance he's going to have children. Except, of course, by adoption."

"But there's no one else closely related enough…" Susan said, trailing off as she realised that she must be wrong. She must have overlooked someone important, or her aunt would not be this happy. If he really _was_ innocent, then she knew Sirius Black's hatred of his own family must not have been an act. It was bad enough that he would try to bury the Black name out of pure spite, if he could.

Who, then, was closely enough related to the Black family that he could adopt and pass the title to? Who would also keep their own name and let the Black name die?

Susan slapped a hand to her head. "Harry is his cousin, isn't he?"

"Second cousins through Dorea Potter née Black, yes. And despite…mixed first impressions, Mr Potter is eager to have him as family. We need only get Sirius into a position where he can legally sign adoption papers, and that's that. His will already leaves almost everything to Mr Potter, given that the original beneficiaries are mostly deceased."

Despite her best efforts, Susan was unable to keep a smile off her face as she said, "It's not as satisfying as avenging your family with a blasting curse to the head, but it will do."

"I quite agree. I'll be glad to put this behind us once it's done." Aunt Amelia heaved a sigh as she pushed herself to her feet. "Remember, Susan, not a word."

"Of course, Aunt Amelia. I promise."

"Good. I have a long day tomorrow, so I'll be heading to bed early. Do you need anything?"

"No–" Susan cut herself off as she remembered something she'd overheard at the ministry earlier. "Well, I was wondering what the Department of International Magical Cooperation was up to. I heard a few rumours about a tournament of some kind."

"Urgh. That." Shaking her head, Aunt Amelia gathered up a small pile of parchmentwork she'd brought home from the ministry. As she did, she explained, "There's been some talk of reviving a blood sport at Hogwarts your fourth year. With any luck, it will remain just that, but as I always tell you–"

"Don't count on luck."

With a smile, Aunt Amelia gently rubbed Susan's head on her way by. "Good night, Susan."

* * *

As Harry lay in bed ruminating on everything he'd learnt today, one question sprouted in his mind and refused to leave.

 _Where the bloody hell is Remus Lupin?_

* * *

 **A/N:** As mentioned at the end of the last chapter, I have 42k words of a Code Geass fic that I've been idly working on occasionally for the past six or so months called _Kallen Stadtfeld, Countess of Britannia_. In short, Kallen leaves for Britannia with her father before Japan is invaded and befriends Lelouch. The five chapters I have done so far covers their unfortunate childhood. Check out my profile page for the link.

Thanks goes to my prereader, Owen Hinds.


	11. The Tale of Emma

**A/N:** JKR owns Harry Potter.

* * *

Act Two - A Black Comedy  
Tales of Summer

The Tale of Emma

A light breeze rolled through the surrounding open fields, and the sun shone brightly despite the clouds dotting the sky. Along with them, a figure slowly drifted from cloud to cloud, its shadow easily tracked along the ground in the midday light.

Far from clouds on foot, three people trekked through the tall grass and hidden roots and rocks. Two of them held Shooting Star brooms rescued from the bargain bin in Quality Quidditch Supplies. They were old and tame, much slower than today's best models, but they were perfect for beginners about to take their first flight.

Once Harry apparently decided they were sufficiently far into the middle of nowhere, he began his descent to the ground. That was Hermione's cue to split off from the group and stamp out an area for her to lie down and bask in the sun with a book. Surprising no one, she would not be flying today without a great deal of coaxing. She _had_ a broom in her mokeskin pouch, but she had it as a last resort in a desperate situation.

Perhaps ten metres in the air, Harry disengaged his broom and plummeted toward the ground. Halfway down, he suddenly slowed with no apparent cause before finally landing softly in the grass. All the while, Hermione appeared unconcerned, so Emma presumed an explanation would be forthcoming.

"Alright, um…class," Harry said with a great deal of nervousness.

"Relax, Harry," Emma said, putting a hand on his shoulder. She tried her best not to react when he flinched at the contact. "It's just me and Dan. Nothing to get worked up about."

"Ah. Right. Well, first things first." Harry withdrew a pair of small potion vials and handed them over. Each contained a bright, near-white yellow liquid. Shaking her own vial, Emma found that the contents were very viscous. "Drink these, please."

Dan frowned at the unknown the potion. "What is this?"

"Feather falling potion," Harry said. "In Hermione's and my first flying lesson, we learnt the importance of being prepared second hand."

Wincing at the unstated, Emma pushed the thought away and uncorked her vial. She plugged her nose and downed the contents in one go. "Vile," she muttered. "Absolutely vile." She then looked to Dan expectantly and soon watched him gag on his own dose.

"You'd think _someone_ would have invented an artificial flavouring of some kind for potions by now." Dan regarded the vial with one last scornful look before passing it back to Harry along with Emma's.

"Most people just pinch their nose and numb their tongue," Hermione idly commented from nearby. At the look Harry was sending her way, she added, "Yes, I know the spell. I'll teach it to you later."

"Great! Anyway" – Harry turned back to Emma and Dan – "if you go down too fast, on your broom or not, the feather falling potion will kick in and slow you to a gentle fall until you hit the ground. It's only good once, but Hermione and I brewed a lot, so we shouldn't run out."

That gave Emma an idea, a wonderfully, exciting idea. For now until she learnt how to fly, she tucked that thought into the back of her mind.

"So, just flying isn't really that hard or complex."

"Lies!" Hermione said.

"Unless you're afraid of heights."

"More lies! Libel! Slander!"

Emma quietly chuckled at the back and forth between those two. While Emma was reasonably confident that Hermione did not suffer from acrophobia – or at least no more than was healthy for anyone – she sure acted like she did at times. Regardless, she certainly knew how to get Harry to relax.

"The controls along a plane are straightforward for the most part. Lean left to turn left. The more you lean, the tighter the turn. Same with turning right. Similarly, if you lean forward, you'll accelerate forward."

"Lies!" Hermione once more said.

Harry rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated huff. "Fine, you don't accelerate. You just sort of _go_. You shouldn't feel anything like you would in a car, so don't worry about losing your grip or sliding off your broom."

Harry stopped there, looking expectantly at Hermione. The latter went on reading her book before eventually realising he was waiting on her to interrupt. "What? That one is true."

Leaning toward Emma, Dan whispered, "Sounds like that rubbish delta function the engineers always talked about."

"Be nice," Emma whispered back, lightly slapping his arm.

"As I was saying, you lean forward to move forward. Lean back to fly in reverse."

"Not recommended!" And there it was. Emma wondered if Hermione had opted not to help teach out of simple principle, and this was her way of participating without actually seeming to.

"The neutral position, that is where you're not moving, is set when you first kick off the ground. In general, when you're flying, it usually works best to start with it a little up–"

"Thirty degrees from the horizontal!"

"–so that when you're going forward, you're actually looking where you're going. There's a fairly large dead zone on your models, so you shouldn't have too much difficulty stopping. There's also a manual reset useful for tricks and sports, but for now, let's just try having you two fly along the ground. We can deal with up and down after you master steering."

Harry instructed them to mount their brooms, and he quickly corrected their grips and emphasised particularly that they should not under any circumstances move their hands. Given that he had just said they would deal with ascending and descending later, Emma assumed hand positions controlled the broom's vertical speed.

Within minutes, both Emma and Dan had grown comfortable floating along leisurely just above the top of the local flora. Flying instinctively, fast, and while otherwise occupied would take time and practice, Emma was sure, but she only needed a very basic competency to be allowed to meet Harry's godfather.

From there, the rest of Harry's instructions were simple enough. To go up, one merely moved their top hand up. To go down, one moved the bottom hand down. Without both hands on the shaft, the broom would maintain its course. Thereafter all that was left to do was practice, much like learning to ride a bicycle.

The afternoon passed slowly at first with Emma and Dan growing more and more competitive as they got used to flying. Side by side flights quickly turned into races, and with the feather falling potion in them, neither felt particularly worried about flying in loops or upside down. They stopped briefly for a picnic when Hermione called them down to eat, but the two of them stayed in the air the rest of the time until evening.

While Hermione was packing up for the day, Harry had one last thing to say.

"Okay, both of you are capable of making extended flights. Certainly the flight out of Azkaban, if you really want to come. There's one more thing a broom can do, although it's more of a convenience function than actually important." Harry dropped his broom onto the ground and held his hand out over it. "If you're too lazy to either bend down to pick your broom up or to kick it up with a foot, all you have to do is call for it. Up!" The broom shot straight up to his hand with a definite smack. He then gestured with his broom for them to try.

Shrugging, Emma dropped her broom and held her hand out. "Up!" Nothing happened. Dan had a similar lack of success when he tried.

"Don't worry. Hermione took forever to get her broom to do anything more than roll around pathetically." Harry smoothly sidestepped a grape thrown in his direction.

Five minutes of absolutely zero success later, Emma was ready to give up. Something, obviously, was wrong.

"Maybe Shooting Stars don't do it?" Harry mumbled. "Let me try." Standing beside Dan's broom, he called, "Up!" and the broom shot to his hand. "That's odd…"

"Are you sure you're not casting a spell?" Emma suggested.

"I can't be. I'm not using a wand."

"Do you really need it?" Dan asked.

Harry nodded. "A wand is a focus. Casting spells without one is like trying to paint with a mop." He scrunched his brows together and sunk into thought. He stroked his chin once in his contemplation. Then all of a sudden, his eyes widened, and he spun in place before dashing off. "Hermione!"

"I'm right here, Harry," said a thoroughly unamused Hermione. "What is it?"

With no further warning, Harry launched into a ramble more characteristic of Hermione than himself. "When you work with a tool, you expect it to do its job the same way every time. A screwdriver screws screws the same way no matter how you orient the screw. You spin it clockwise, and the screw goes in. You spin it counterclockwise, and it comes out. Every single time."

"Well, there exist left-handed screws, but they're not common. So what?"

"A broom is a tool. When you're flying it, it always behaves in the exact same way. Every single time. It's…" Harry snapped his fingers as he tried to recall something. "It's deterministic. That's the word. You always know exactly how the broom will react to a stimulus the same way you know what a screwdriver will do."

Clearly humouring Harry, Hermione said, "It would be pretty hard to fly if you had to deal with randomly changing controls."

"That's not the point. You miserably failed at getting your broom to jump to your hand. I didn't."

"Gee, thanks, Harry. I can see exactly why you're my best friend."

"You're still missing the point. You failed. I didn't. _But_ your broom still rolled around like it was trying or unsure if you were actually asking for it. If we're expecting a broom to behave the same way all the time, why was it that most of our class each got slightly different reactions as they practised?"

"Oh." Realisation struck Hermione, and it was her turn to look thoughtful. "That's a good question. That doesn't make sense. Not unless…" Her eyes widened.

"Unless we were learning a wandless spell!"

"Yes!" Hermione grabbed Harry's hands and jumped up and down in obvious glee. "Oh, that's wonderful! We have a starting point to learn wandless magic!"

"Even if it's a very, very simple spell," Harry added.

"Oh!" Hermione spun toward her picnic basket. "Does it only work on brooms?" She held her hand over the basket's handle and firmly said, "Up!" The basket shot to her hand, eliciting another cry of joy from her. "Harry, you're a genius!"

Finally joining the two, Emma said, "I'd like to think I provided the inspiration for this little revelation."

Harry nodded, and Hermione said, "You're a genius, too, Mum."

"I can't help but feel left out of this joyous occasion," Dan commented.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione said, "Fine. We're all geniuses."

"And I think this genius in particular deserves a little reward," Emma said. She waved Harry over and whispered her idea this afternoon into his ear. They exchanged mischievous smirks right after.

"I agree," Harry said, bringing out a wary look on Hermione's face. "Hermione, grab your broom and follow us."

Harry kicked off and headed nearly straight up into the sky. After shooting a reassuring look at Dan, Emma joined him in ascending to the clouds. Dan followed soon after, but it took a long time before Hermione slowly and cautiously joined them, clinging to her broom for dear life and shivering.

"What are we doing up here?" Hermione asked. "It's freezing! We must be three kilometres up at least."

Hermione had a point. Emma made a mental note to ask for a transfigured jumper later. But all the answer Hermione got was Dan's shrug. Meanwhile, Harry withdrew four vials of feather falling potion from his pouch and handed one to everyone.

Emma held her vial up as if to toast. "Drink up before you hit the ground." With that, she spun herself off her broom but kept hold of it as she accelerated down, just in case. Skydiving had always been one of those things she wanted to try but never got around to.

* * *

 **A/N:** I've never seen anyone remark on wandless magic with this simple cantrip, and I can guess the true intention in canon well enough, but it does seem awfully suspicious that a broom may or may not understand the 'up' command when you otherwise only have yourself to blame for mistakes (ignoring malfunctions).

I intend to publish the entire series of summer shorts roughly once a week. I have approximately half of them in their final state (although not the first sequential half), so we'll see how well I can keep to that schedule. They're short enough that I don't feel too uneasy with only me looking over them for misspelled words and grammar.

Speaking of, I imagine it's obvious, but I'm a US author writing primarily for US readers. That said, if someone wants to Brit pick me (or anachronism pick; I was born in 1991) feel free and accept my gratitude. I have a UK dictionary, spell checker, phrase book, and Google, which I consult whenever I'm in doubt, but I know I'm making mistakes (hopefully less over time), some of which I care more about than others.

Anyway, I now bestow upon you a list of the upcoming tales.

-The Tale of Emma: A story of first flights and discovery. Light and fluffy to start the summer.

-The Tale of Hermione: In which Harry reveals he has unknowingly created something fundamentally important. This is also the first chapter where the theme of the story becomes blatantly obvious. Other computer science topics have already been woven more subtly into the narrative.

-The Tale of Sirius: Emma and Sirius have tea and biscuits in Azkaban.

-The Tale of the 'Founders': Harry drags Hermione out to work on her pitiful occlumency with Susan and Neville.

-The Tale of Susan: In which words have not yet been written, but I'm sure she's up to something.

-The Tale of Luna: Luna stars in her own chapter as Harry and Hermione come to her seeking answers.

-The Tale of Harry: It's July 31, and Harry sneaks off alone for his first ever visit to his parents' graves to reflect on his life and future.

-The Tale of Daphne: Daphne engages in espionage. It sounded a lot more exciting to her than it really is.

-The Tale of Ginny: Rest and recovery, and a mind healer derails the usual Ginny plotlines.

-The Tale of Hobday and Mina: Hermione finally tells Harry her 'daftest thing about the magical world'.

-The Tale of Dan: A father ponders the direction his daughter's life is taking and considers how best to be part of it.


	12. The Tale of Hermione

**A/N:** JKR owns Harry Potter.

* * *

Act Two - A Black Comedy  
Tales of Summer

The Tale of Hermione  


The TARDIS was truly a wonder of magic. Oh, she knew she was fangirling about it, but Hermione really could not possibly care less. This was what magic was _supposed_ to be about, not fighting wars, dispatching Eldritch monsters, or struggling desperately to survive.

Not that she really minded that aspect of her life in the abstract sense. No good story was without conflict of some kind, and in the story of her life, she would much rather be battling giant monsters and dark lords than, say, acting emotionally and intellectually challenged over some boy not worth her time.

That said, with all the excitement, studying, and danger, it was often hard to deal with the little things – little things like looking behind mysterious doors in the TARDIS. Hermione knew the room before her was part of her original floor plan. It was _supposed_ to be there. But it also occurred to her that she'd not been inside it nor even seen past the door since the initial furnishing at the start of summer. Curious.

Hermione opened the door. Behind it resided a workshop. Tables, chairs, and crumpled up balls of discarded paper littered the room in equal measure to all manner of miscellaneous junk and simple enchantments. On display in a corner, a perpetually running model waterfall grew out of the ground as the crowning masterpiece.

A smile worked is way onto Hermione's face.

 _I am going to tease Harry about this for years. A whole room dedicated solely to runecrafting. Brilliant! I wonder what he's been working on._

Poking around at the work Harry had archived, Hermione found only odd trinkets of little interest. Still, for not having an instructor, Harry had proven to be a surprisingly deft hand a rune crafting. She first deciphered the runes creating and destroying the water in the waterfall before then moving on to the next novelty.

And that was where Harry eventually found her. Hermione held a faintly glowing mammoth of an enchantment in her hands that, as far as she could tell, accomplished nothing more than creating light as inefficiently as possible. Such a curious thing it was.

"Oh. It's you."

Hermione turned to regard Harry and raised her eyebrows questioningly at his rather restrained and flat greeting.

"Go ahead and get your jokes and 'I told you so's out of the way."

"Not now, I think. I already had the privilege of the latter at the start of our break. The former I'm saving for more appropriate moments. I like your fountain."

"Thanks."

"Would you explain what you were hoping to accomplish with this…device?" Hermione held up the nightlight for lack of a better name.

"Oh. So much for the grand reveal…"

"I could put it down and forget?"

"No, it's fine. I was just hoping for a dramatic moment when I could make myself seem really smart."

Hermione set the device down and crossed the distance between her and Harry to hug him. "Everyone in this house already knows you're smart. I'm very sure I'm the one who convinced you of that."

"I suppose. So you want to know what this is?" Hermione followed Harry's finger to the nightlight before nodding. "Originally it was a supposed to be a magic sensor. Basically a magical voltmeter."

"Thaumometer," Hermione corrected. The thaum was not a unit of measure in the magical world, but it was the only correct choice.

Harry quirked an eyebrow but said nothing more. He pointed to the rune cluster at the bottom providing power. "When I read about passive absorption of ambient magic as a power source, the textbook noted that the runes would provide more power in places with more magic. The natural first thought from a mundane science perspective, I think, is that this a way to measure magic.

"And _you can_. You can convert from the output lux to…uh, the thaum, since both quantities are directly related. But it didn't do quite what I'd hoped for. As it is, it shines reasonably brightly without blinding you at ward boundaries, where magic tends to be more concentrated and ordered, but the sensitivity is far too low for the human eye to spot smaller changes."

Hermione's grin only grew and grew as Harry continued with his explanation. _I do so like being right. Harry really_ is _smart; all he ever needed was motivation, time, and individual attention to blossom._ Sure, she could complain that he preferred projects and practical things while she enjoyed theory and experiments, but in all honesty, she suspected it was better that way for them both. With their interests combined, nothing would be beyond their reach.

Once Hermione had shaken off the warm feelings bubbling up in her chest, she considered Harry's device with a more appreciative look. "Sounds useful. But why didn't you make the runes capturing magical flux smaller if sensitivity is a problem?"

"I did." Opening a cabinet, Harry withdrew a much smaller softly glowing stone slab and handed it off to Hermione. "This version works on a smaller scale. This part here amplifies the signal to get a more visible change but requires a more magically dense power source to function. I carved a battery here for that, you see. When properly powered, it'd be a mere lamp here. At Hogwarts, it would blind you."

Hermione made the obvious suggestion. "Have you considered a limiter on the input or output for a maximum brightness?"

"Haven't gotten to that chapter yet," Harry said. "Anyway, with the larger version, I accidentally discovered something…eh, moderately useful. If you set a spell inside the absorption runes – for example, a transfigured object – the runes will eat at it until it destabilises and disperses."

"It works as a counterspell!" Hermione asked.

"Yes, but before you get too excited, it only works on things a finite could counter. That and smaller rune systems."

"Oh," Hermione said, her excitement leaving her as quickly as it had come. "It's still neat. Actually, I think you've reinvented the basic framework of an artifact aurors use. Tonks wears a small earring that lets her know when she approaches a ward or when a spell is coming at her and from what direction. It can be fooled, but it's a neat little device."

A smile quickly lit up Harry's face. "Does that mean I _do_ look really smart after all?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. You're brilliant."

"I can't help but feel that wasn't genuine."

Ignoring that comment, Hermione thought further on the small magic detector's possible uses. Few occurred to her, but being able to measure magic was the first step to properly analysing it. That was important in and of itself. But then the monumental truth struck her. She looked from Harry's primitive thaumometer to his innocent face. He had absolutely no idea what he'd truly made!

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Hermione's hands shook. She took a moment to settle her nerves. This was _big_.

"Harry, you made a device that amplifies a magical signal. This is a magical transistor."

The boy clearly still had no idea what he'd done. The mundane transistor had revolutionised electronics and allowed for the invention of the modern digital computer. If these could be chained together the way Hermione expected…

"Would you mind if I used your workshop?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow but said, "Go ahead. Just clean up when you're done."

Hermione turned to regard the state of the room. She looked back to Harry.

"By which I mean dump your mess in that corner if you don't want to get rid of it yet or vanish it."

With that, Hermione shooed Harry out so she could focus without him distracting her. She apparently had far less practice than him at the actual carving of runes and wanted some peace and quiet while she worked.

The first thing Hermione did once she was alone was to carve out a few small, manageably-sized runic batteries. She filled them with magic and then set them aside to use later as inputs distinctly more powerful than the ambient magic of Crawley. As she had no hope of finding a magical vacuum to work in, she would have to tolerate the background noise.

After working out the maths necessary to determine how big and small she needed to make each part, Hermione duplicated two of Harry's magic detector's onto a single stone in sequence with one's output feeding power to the next. The second output she left as a light rune that glowed dimly as expected. For her purposes, it would be considered off.

"And now the moment of truth."

Hermione took one of her batteries and placed it near the runes absorbing magic on the first device, the first input. And as she wanted, the influx of magic did absolutely nothing. She moved the battery from the first device to the second. The result remained the same. Finally, she placed a second battery on the first input, and she grinned. The output light shined bright with magic allowed to flow through both transistors.

"I am brilliant," she said, congratulating herself. _I need to find a proper way to tell Harry how brilliant he is, too._ After thinking about it for a few seconds, she placed the thought aside. She would ruminate on that matter later.

 _So I have an AND gate. All I need now is a NOT gate to be…be…be functionally complete. That's the word. Words. Then I can build anything! I'm so glad Harry picked up that book on computers for us to browse through. If this works out, I need to find the time for both of us to read the whole thing._

 _So how do I build a NOT gate…_

Not coming up with an immediate answer, Hermione left the workshop to fetch the book on how computers worked. As much fun as it would be to puzzle out the solution herself, she was more interested in quickly finishing her mini project. She opened the book to the right page and then promptly frowned.

 _It occurs to me that I don't know how to read electrical diagrams._

Not deterred, Hermione turned back a chapter and set to reading. Once she was ready, she turned back to the circuit diagram for a NOT gate. Her frown returned.

 _This doesn't work._

As it turned out, Harry's device was not an exact analogue to a transistor. It more closely resembled a regular switch.

 _Okay, I still have an AND gate, and the OR gate implementation is obvious. I can chain these gates together so that one's output can work as an input to another by adding a limiter to the input runes. That gets me a lot, right?_

After thinking about it for half a second, Hermione knew she was wrong. She desperately needed an inverter if she wanted to create anything useful. Even an operation as simple as single bit addition required it.

 _Alright, Electrical Engineer Hermione, what do you recommend to fix this problem?_

 _Define your problem first._

 _I need an input, when on, to output nothing and, when off, to output magic._

 _Simplify! Half of your problem is redundant._

 _Okay, I need an input, when on, to turn off an always on output._

 _The easiest way to do that would be to disable the rune cluster._

Hermione frowned. There was no 'on/off' rune. If there were, this task would be much simpler. There were runes to detect state, such as if water were nearby, but there were no runes to specifically enable and disable another rune cluster. To disable an enchantment, one simply cut the power – or destroyed an important rune.

 _So do that._

 _That…_ Hermione's attention fell onto Harry's model waterfall. At its base, she knew he'd carved a rune cluster to destroy water. But at its source up above, there was another set of runes that _created_ the water. _That might actually work. If I set it up so that the input, when on, filled in a crucial rune, it could disable the output. The trick would be making it reversible. If I remember correctly…_

Filling in a rune with stone was easy. She could easily repurpose the top half of Harry's waterfall to do that. The problem came in later removing stone in the exact shape of the rune she filled in. It was doable. If she took the time, she could write down the entire runic array required to do so.

But it was inefficient, inelegant, and would require an enormous amount of time and space to carve. The direct approach would not do here.

Needing another book, Hermione left the workshop once again. She remembered reading in next year's supplementary runes textbook about a runic array for this exact situation in a different context. From her bookshelves in her bedroom, she pulled down the book in question and flipped through it.

 _There was something in here… It wasn't a ward. Those aren't covered at all until the spring term of fourth year. I remember Dad making a joke about it…_ Hermione gnawed on her lip and looked up to the ceiling as she tried to recall what exactly her dad had said. _It had something to do with his roleplaying games…_

"Water traps!" Hermione said. "That was it." _There's an array in here designed to temporarily fill empty space inside it with water. For pools or baths, not drowning intruders._

And indeed, as she flipped through the book, Hermione eventually found the example implementation she wanted. It filled a volume with water until the runes were deactivated. Without continued power or if the material left the affected volume, it _and only it_ vanished immediately. Substituting the water material out for a generic stone would be easy enough.

 _Perfect._

Hermione returned to her project and set to work finishing her NOT gate. She first carved a power source that directly transferred magic to an output light. Naturally, the light was on. Next, she added the new rune cluster to fill in the single rune that performed the actual transference of magic from the source to the output. Without it, no magic would flow, and the output light would turn off. The other runes describing where to, where from, and how much did nothing alone.

Once Hermione was finished carving, she paused to appreciate her work, happy to have made a proper contribution of her own. There were probably better solutions to her problem, but this one would do for the moment.

And now to test her work. Hermione placed one of her batteries onto the NOT gate's input. The light turned off.

"Yeeeessss! It works! It works!"

Now that she'd succeeded, the full implications of exactly what she had in front of her overwhelmed Hermione.

"Oh, Merlin! I can build a magic-compatible computer. That means I can create an index for Hogwarts's library!"

Hermione paused. _Maybe_ there were more important things a computer capable of interfacing with magic could do. A devious smile grew on Hermione's face as she recalled a particular time her hand had cramped not too long ago.

"I could bypass every protection against copying on Hogwarts's library books! The protections wouldn't have the foggiest idea what was happening to the books if I did it right."

That _might_ also not have been the most optimal use of a magical computer – or even near optimal, in all honesty – but it was certainly a _motivating_ use.

Hermione faked a cough. _Right then. Step one on my quest to glory is obvious._

With paper and a pencil from her mokeskin pouch at hand, Hermione set about figuring out how she could add two one-bit numbers using logical ANDs, ORs, and NOTs. The task proved simple enough. She needed two outputs. The least significant bit needed to be on if and only if exactly one of the two input bits were on. That was perfectly doable. The exclusive or operation could easily be constructed from two ANDs, an OR, and a NOT. The most significant bit, the carry bit, needed to be on only when both inputs were on. An AND gate would cover that.

 _I'm going to have to carve hundreds of runes to make this work…_

The task was simple but _tedious_. Even so, Hermione was resolved to see this proof of concept through to the end. She set to work carving.

Halfway through her task, a very disgruntled Hermione muttered to herself, "This is ridiculous. The first major runes project Harry and I work on is buying and setting up a mundane device to carve runes for us."

Forty minutes later and about two hundred more runes into her project, Hermione considered that as soon as she got the very bare bones of a magical processor working, her first task would be to program it to punch out logical gates on demand along a grid. Unlike electrical wiring, runes could be placed much more haphazardly. Position only mattered in the sense that one had to know where to send magic to power other runes. There were no wires to clutter the design, and adjacency was a non-issue.

Finally, when she was at long last finished, a proud smile adorned Hermione's face as she played with her very, very basic calculator. Never again would she have to add zero and zero, one and zero, or one and one.

 _Well,_ I'm _entertained, at least._

"You know," Harry said, causing Hermione to jump in surprise, "it looks like you've built a first class example of the major drawback of runes over spells."

Hermione turned toward Harry and silently asked him what he meant.

"Time. Whatever you have there probably took ten-thousand times longer to make than an equivalent spell would be to cast. Hours versus seconds, and all."

"But it's reusable," Hermione replied. "Make it once and you're done forever."

"Yep. Now what is that?"

Hermione grinned and turned back to her adder, demonstrating its functionality to Harry. She sensed that she appreciated it much more than he did.

"You do realise you're only half done, right?"

Hermione's face fell.

"I think the book we bought called this a half-adder. You need a third input for the carry bit if you want to chain a bunch of these together. Unless you just want to add one bit, of course."

Hermione frowned.

"You need a pulse generator, too," Harry added. "As I understand it, the clock is an essential component of a computer."

"Can't we just enjoy the moment?" Hermione asked rather flatly.

"Sure. I _am_ impressed. What you made is truly brilliant. But I did come up here to call you down for supper. It'll be done in about ten minutes."

"Fine, fine. Killjoy."

"Perhaps, but I'm the killjoy who made your favourite dessert."

Well in that case, all was forgiven. "I'll be down in a minute or two."

Harry nodded and left. Hermione, too, left to wash her hands after tidying up her mess. At the door to the workshop, she stopped and looked back. A moment of indecision passed, and then she went back and took her adder with her.

* * *

 **A/N:** So...it's been a while. I've been having so much unqualified glee playing in the _Code Geass_ universe since the last update. That's been a very positive psychological experience for me, so no apologies, but I'll try to focus on this story more.


	13. The Tale of Sirius

**A/N:** JKR owns Harry Potter.

* * *

Act Two - A Black Comedy  
Tales of Summer

The Tale of Sirius  


In the endless gloom and despair of the deepest reaches of Azkaban, time languished on unto eternity. Nothing changed. No sun nor moon marked the passing of day. There was only ever the nauseating light that filtered in from elsewhere in the prison and the silence.

The silence was the worst part. At first, it came as a comfort. No one could be heard suffering. No one would disturb the peace.

But then the aurors left, and their patronuses went with them. Weeks later when the dementors had done their work, it became all too obvious why the silence forever lingered. The dementors tore away everything but the desire to _make it all stop_ whatever the cost. The deeper and closer to the horrors and nightmares at the base of Azkaban, the worse it became.

After years that had all merged together into one endless night with only the rare visiting historian breaking the monotony, Sirius Black found it difficult to readjust to a proper schedule. The almost comfortable atmosphere and patronus presence that came with the holding cells on Azkaban's highest level often left him a sobbing mess. There only the slightest chill and mental touch of the dementors could be felt. Stranger still, someone usually wanted to talk. He could barely remember the last time he'd had an idle conversation.

Yes, since Harry Potter had stormed back into his life, everything had changed. Now he had daily visits from healers trying to put him back together. His meals were edible and sometimes even luxurious. Harry visited once a week in the company of his obvious future wife or her parents. Amy even stopped by on occasion to update him on how his case was going despite how often Sirius would say something that made her slap him.

Good times.

This was unexpected surprise, however.

"What brings you here today, Emma?" Sirius asked. He resisted the urge to preen when he noticed he'd not yet stuttered or twitched.

Emma put down her tea. The guards had been gracious enough to provide it for both her and Sirius along with biscuits. Honestly, he thought they were just trying to assuage their guilty feelings over dumping him in Azkaban to rot and be forgotten, but he would not look a gift aethonan in the mouth.

"In part," Emma said, "I needed something to do while I wait for the kids to finish their business in Diagon Alley."

While he was well aware responsibility had never been his strong suit, parental or otherwise, Sirius asked, "Are you sure you should be leaving them alone? From what I've heard, there are still plenty of people out there who would want to hurt Harry, nevermind your own daughter."

Emma sighed. "Let's be honest, Sirius. What good would I do if I were there?"

Although he would rather not, Sirius admitted that Emma had a point. Even if she possessed a gun, against an adult witch or wizard, most shielding spells would block anything from a bullet to a rocket and probably even artillery, too.

"Besides," Emma continued, "Hermione's appearance is…well, only recently becoming known. But those two changed Harry's hair colour, I put some makeup over his scar, we bought him contacts, and they're in unassuming robes. I doubt anyone will recognise either of them."

"Oh. Harry does know he can have his eyesight fixed once he's done growing, right? Or multiple times if he really hates his glasses."

"He's considered it and decided to wait. He said he's fine with glasses for now, but–" Emma chuckled. "–if there's anything that boy loathes entirely, it's contacts. I swear, his hands should be constantly red whenever he wears them. Hermione smacks them away every time he goes to rub his eyes."

Sirius chuckled. That sounded so much like something Lily would do to James. Probably. He was still trying to piece together the good times from the twisted nightmares the dementors had turned his memories into.

"So what are those two up to? Something mischievous, I hope."

Emma raised her eyebrows in question.

Sirius grinned.

" _I_ am the silly, nonsensical, secretly not irresponsible adult. Are we going to have a problem?"

A snicker escaped Sirius. "No, Ma'am. I'm not responsible at all."

"Good." Her territory defended, Emma sipped from her tea. She then said, "Hermione and Harry bought a small piece of land over near… Well, I doubt you've heard of the place. Regardless, there are a number of wards hiding a sizable plot of land, so they bought the surrounding area from the mundane government for pennies."

Sirius slapped his leg as he laughed, coughing up a few crumbs of a biscuit in the process. "Brilliant! James would have been so proud."

"Hmm. Yes, well, right now they're negotiating with a curse breaking company to clear out the old wards. They checked that no one owns the land inside the wards, so whatever is in there is all theirs."

Sceptical, Sirius asked, "You're letting them negotiate a business contract alone?"

Emma shrugged as she nursed her tea. "Dan and I like to let Hermione spread her wings. Nothing final will be decided today, so he and I will be there to catch them if they fall another day. Those two are at the age when they need guidance and support, not orders and lectures."

A silence fell as Sirius nibbled on another biscuit and thought that over. He found it easy to agree that Hermione seemed like a very responsible young witch despite how shortly he had known her. Harry, he was a bit more worried about, but then he might be biased. At Harry's age, no one would have called James mature. Maybe there was more Lily in him than Sirius thought.

"You're a good parent," Sirius eventually concluded, a bit of his own disappointment and bitterness creeping into his voice. This was the price he paid for his failings; he'd missed his chance with Harry. He sighed to himself. There was nothing for it but to accept his mistakes and attempt to make up for them.

"I try," Emma said with what Sirius suspected was supposed to be an encouraging smile. "It's not easy. It's a fine line between helpful friend and supportive guardian, and it's not always obvious when you've crossed it. I'm still working on exactly how to tell Hermione that she should just go and kiss the boy who obviously thinks the sun rises and sets with her."

That brought a smile back onto Sirius's face. "You're rooting for them, too?"

"Considering that half of Hermione's letters home are about Harry and that I've seen her laughing more and smiling wider this summer than over the entire rest of her life, it's hard not to. Besides, Harry is delightful to be around."

"I'd imagine your husband isn't too happy about that."

Emma rolled her eyes. "He thinks I'm pushing them into something they might not want or, failing that, then too quickly. But the idea itself he doesn't have a problem with. I didn't marry the kind of man who would happily shag his girlfriend and then turn right around and deny his daughter the same opportunity to make mistakes and find love. The things he and I got up to when we were young…"

A glazed look came over Emma as she got lost in her thoughts. "Dan and I studied abroad, you know. We were in the States when–"

"Whoa! Stop! I don't need to know." Sirius could guess well enough.

Emma blinked. "Ah… Sorry. Anyway, how are things going with your legal troubles? Harry and Hermione aren't very involved in the process, so we're not terribly well informed."

Shrugging, Sirius said, "I'm hopeful I'll get out of here someday. Amy keeps trying to force a trial through, but it keeps getting delayed. Politics and all that. The details elude me as well. I'm safe from assassination, though, so there's that."

"Is… Is that a legitimate concern?"

"Unfortunately."

Emma clearly had no idea what to say to that and changed the topic. "Well, how are you personally? How is your recovery going?"

"Alright, I suppose. If nothing else, being a high profile case also makes me a high priority case. Most of my time is spent with mind healers trying to fix the damage. That and just talking to people to get used to it again. Heh. They have me on so many potions and under so many spells that I might as well be smoking opium all day."

"Oh? You should try morphine. It'd have been such sweet bliss but for having to push Hermione out right after."

Sirius smacked a hand to his forehead. "Seriously, woman! I didn't need to hear that." This, apparently, only amused Emma. " _Please_ , let's talk about something else. What else is my godson getting up to with your daughter?"

"Men are such babies," Emma said, but she obliged his request. "For the most part, they're studying and having fun with magic."

Sirius was reasonably sure there were laws against underage magic, but he said nothing. There were completely legal explanations for the comment, he was sure, and if not, then good on them.

"Hermione has decided that she wants to make a magical computer. Every morning for the past week, she's shown up to breakfast with another tiny component of her proof of concept and a grin that wouldn't leave her face if we cast her from the family."

 _Yep,_ Sirius said to himself. _That sounds like Lily, Dorea, and Agatha, alright. Potter men are cursed._ Out of curiosity, he asked, "What's a computer?"

"Er… Do you know what a television is?"

Sirius nodded.

"Pretend the television is interactive and can perform maths for you and remember things you tell it. And control other electrical devices. That's a very basic idea."

"Huh." _Sounds useful, I suppose._ Sirius noted Emma's frown and asked, "What is it?"

After hesitating a moment, Emma said, "I don't believe Hermione understands the gravity of her little project. Anyone can carve runes, magical, squib, or muggle, but they're not convenient, and no one would accidentally stumble upon them. But if she creates a bare-bones magical processor, she'll unleash a simple interface to magic into the world. If she develops it further, even muggle children could use it."

"So? It just displays pictures and such, right?"

Emma shook her head and smiled at Sirius almost in the way magicals did to confused muggles. "Nevermind. Regardless, Hermione has yet to draft Harry into that particular project of hers, but it's only a matter of time. He made the rune cluster that initially inspired her, and runes is his favourite subject."

"Really?" That was more than a little surprising. Even Lily had detested runes despite how useful she'd claimed they were.

Emma hummed uncertainly. "I'm not positive, but I believe so. I _may_ have been eavesdropping at the time."

"I think we're going to get along perfectly," Sirius said, snickering.

Emma shrugged. "Time will tell. Anyway, there was another reason I wanted to speak with you today besides boredom. I highly doubt this has come up in any appreciable form while Harry has been around, but I need to talk to you about his guardianship."

Rather hesitantly, Sirius said, "Yes?"

"He's in a…difficult situation. You're aware that his aunt and uncle are his current legal guardians, correct?"

Sirius bit out an angry, "Yes," and nothing more.

"Forget his life before Hogwarts; it's not something we can change. This summer he's only been sleeping at his relatives' house. He doesn't even interact with them. The rest of the day he spends with some combination of Dan, Hermione, and myself. I'm sure I speak for the rest of the family when I say we hope we can make the rest of his breaks as pleasant."

Emma sighed before she continued. "The problem is his mother performed some protection ritual. To maintain it, he's required to spend a certain amount of time _willingly_ around his aunt – or cousin, possibly – in her home, and she also has to be willing to let him. They've settled into a hopefully stable truce where they pretend the other doesn't exist, but if someone with a legitimate claim asks to take guardianship of him from them…"

There were no words Sirius could find to respond to that, so he glowered into his own cup of tea.

"I know how you feel," Emma said. "Dan and I hate watching him go back there, and Hermione always looks so hurt. I'm sure Harry would be happy to have you as his de facto guardian, but I just… We may be able to work something out, but please don't make promises to him or to yourself that you won't be able to keep."

Sirius restrained the urge to crush his teacup in his hand, but it was a struggle. Emma was right, of course, but it was still a long while before he managed to calm himself enough to resume chatting over more pleasant affairs.

* * *

 **A/N:** Creating a very basic processor isn't _that_ hard (although Hermione is going to have issues with latches), especially compared to a full computer, and you can do _a lot_ designing them for dedicated tasks. In all seriousness, Emma is right to be concerned. Hermione is developing a highly explosive cultural bomb. Not that it'll go off anytime soon.


End file.
